


The Penny Drops, The Penny Dreads

by Batbirdies



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Childhood Homelessness, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, He’s a good bro don’t worry, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jason Todd is Robin, Many references to Catherine and Willis Todd, Minor Appearances of Dick Grayson, Slow burn family relationships, T for Jason's mouth, Trust Issues, dealing with grief, money issues, split POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:41:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29237001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batbirdies/pseuds/Batbirdies
Summary: Jason’s background as a victim of abuse and childhood homelessness means it’s hard for him to trust, and to ask for things. After only a couple months in the manor, he still isn’t sure about Bruce Wayne. It takes a few bumps in the road, but eventually they get there.___When you come from nothing, it’s hard to adjust to having everything.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne
Comments: 437
Kudos: 584





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ....hi
> 
> This is probably not the fic you were expecting 😅 The Tim and Damian fic is postponed....to be proceeded by a Tim centric fic to be proceeded by _this_
> 
> It was supposed to be a longish oneshot....I thought between 7 and 10k.......haha. But I've always wanted to write a baby Jason fic so I guess my heart took over. We are fully drafted, I think this will end up being around 50-60k when all is said and done but we know how I am...We'll see. Hope you enjoy! Thank you to BrokenHeartedQueen for being my beta!
> 
> This is not technically in the Emotional Motion Sickness verse but it can be viewed as my general take on Jason's childhood at the manor.

Mrs. Marston was one of Jason’s favorite teachers, despite being maligned by the rest of his grade. Well, maybe it actually had something to do with that. Most of the kids in Jason’s grade were assholes. Or idiots. Or both.

Mrs. Marston was serious and maybe a little stern, but she was one of the only teachers Jason had met at Gotham academy who didn’t baby him like he was a dumb poor kid who couldn’t possibly be at their level. Or like the _other_ half who watched him constantly like they were waiting for him to snatch the pencil sharpener right off the wall. Mrs. Marston treated him like all the other kids. Like he was smart, and capable, and no more likely to be a _thief_ than anyone else in the class.

She was also his English teacher, and it just so happened it was his favorite subject. He’d told her once, after she’d handed him back an essay with a note at the top about an upcoming contest. It was her favorite subject too; no surprise there but you could tell, especially, when she talked about books.

Which was why Jason read most of her recommendations and why, when she told them about an author’s upcoming book signing at a local bookstore, he knew exactly what series they wrote. And he was, maybe, just maybe, a fan.

“Does anyone think they would be interested in attending?” she asked, holding up a brightly colored flyer in front of the class. 

A few kids raised their hands along with Jason but most stayed silent, slouched back into their desk chairs, not even paying attention. Jason was interested, very interested, right up until she announced to the class, “The tickets are $20 each, but you can purchase at the event. Just be prepared to buy them if you’re not going with a parent or guardian.” 

Jason’s raised hand slowly lowered to his desk, a disappointed well opening up in the base of his stomach as she went about handing off the few requested flyers. He shook his head, dismissing the idea. He wasn’t gonna ask Bruce to buy tickets to this thing.

He’d only been living there for three months and it’d been...really good, if he was being honest, and he didn’t want to rock the boat by asking for things he didn’t need. He’d just started going out as Robin and that was way more important than going to see this lady talk about her books.

When Mrs. Marston walked down his aisle she paused at the edge of his desk but continued on when he didn’t look up, playing the part of every other dejected preteen in the room. 

*

“Jason, will you stay back for a moment?” she said, just as he was slinging his bag over his shoulder to head to his next class.

Of course, Mrs. Marston was smart, and she’d spotted his raised hand before he dropped it, and didn’t let him escape with no word. 

He hesitated, glancing at the clock and reluctantly shuffling to her desk. She held up a flyer as soon as he stopped and Jason stared. 

“Uh, thanks but...” Except he didn’t really know where he was going with the sentence and swallowed as his words awkwardly dried up.

She eyed him for a moment before continuing, “I think you might really be interested in this one. There’s rumor she’s planning to announce the next in the series. You should go.” She held it out further, to the point it would feel rude if Jason didn’t take it.

And maybe his stomach did a little flip flop at the idea of being there for that. Gotham seemed like a weird place to do it, he had no idea why someone would plan that but...no harm in at least taking the flyer he figured, even if he had no plans on going. Jason glanced at the clock, grabbing it quickly to stuff in his backpack before he was late to his next class. 

It rolled around in his head for the rest of the school day, the idea of going. But his mouth went dry every time he thought about asking. He could sneak in, probably, if he wanted. But no, getting caught at that would be way worse than just asking to go. It wasn’t like he needed to. He wanted to obviously but he’d learned the difference between the two a long time ago. 

Bruce had made a big deal about providing him the necessities when he first moved in. Most of them already weren’t necessities in Jason’s mind. 

He looked down at his tennis shoes, the freshly minted black sneakers they had gotten to replace his old ones, thought about the new cell phone in his back pocket ‘for emergencies’, the new laptop sitting on his desk at home, all the new clothes stuffing his closet....he wasn’t about to ask for anything that didn’t make Bruce’s list.

And it was fine, whatever. Who cared if the author revealed her new series? Jason would still get to read it when it came out. He headed to the pick up zone in front of the school and tried to just forget about it.

It was easy enough. Stuff like book signings hadn’t even been an option when he was a kid, even if he didn’t have to pay for it; he would have needed to either be home with his mom or trying to find a way to make money. Just like all the other people in his neighborhood still were. It was no great sacrifice to miss it. 

*

Jason didn’t even think about it after that. Not until a few days later when he was looking through his backpack for a math assignment. 

He knew it was in there, even if he had to dig for it. When he finally did find it he was cursing himself for how wrinkled it was when he pulled it out of the bag. He knew he should be better about keeping them in their assigned folders but it was hard to keep up to speed some days, rushing between classes. Jason wasn’t used to middle school, hell he hadn’t even been to elementary school in over a year before Bruce took him in. But he always found himself scrambling between classes, terrified of being late and having to sit in the back. 

It wasn’t that the _bad_ kids sat in the back — like, _yeah right._ The bad kids at this school were the ones whose parents paid off their teachers for good grades; they barely knew what it meant. It was because all of them were slackers and they talked through the whole class. At least in the front row Jason could ignore them and pay attention. 

They might not need good grades but _Jason_ did. And anyway it was mostly fine, since he usually took the same seat in each class the other kids usually left it open, naturally gravitating toward their own sections.

He admitted it would probably be ok to let himself slow down a little though, as he attempted to uncrumple his math homework. It was even folded around another sheet of paper he realized, carefully disentangling them only to discover the forgotten flyer for the book signing. 

He stared at it for a moment, the brief desire and stifled disappointment reasserting themselves at the reminder. Glancing at the date he realized it was supposed to happen the very next night. Jason had even been going through the last published book in the series just a couple days before, looking for clues of what happened to one of the characters. He wondered if she’d talk about it at all. 

Smoothing the flyer out on his desk he eyed the ticket prices, pencil in one hand, ready for his math homework. It was $20 each. So if Bruce thought someone should go with him, which, he probably would because he was paranoid in the weirdest ways sometimes. Not like Jason hadn’t lived on his own for a whole year before. But whatever, the total would be $40, which was a lot even before tax. And after...He scratched out the math on the side of the flyer - they’d been learning that sort of thing in math, multiplying decimals and shit - it came to $43.40.

The number made his stomach twist. He knew, logically speaking, that it was nothing to someone like Bruce Wayne who dropped like $100 on a t-shirt. Maybe even more than that. But to Jason...that was two weeks worth of groceries for him and his mom if he played it right. 

Would he have given up two weeks worth of food to go see this thing? Even a few days?

No, no he definitely wouldn’t. It wasn’t important, and it certainly wasn’t necessary. Kids back in his old neighborhood would never even have heard about this. The teachers wouldn’t have told ‘em, ‘cause they’d know nobody could afford it. 

Oh well, Jason thought as he doodled a little star and pentagon on the corner of the page that the main character wore on a necklace.

The other kids would just think he was a nerd for going anyway. He sighed when he was done, tapping his pencil to the page.

It was disappointing, maybe, but at least he had things like missed book signings to be disappointed about now, instead of staring at the inside of an empty dumpster and wondering where his next meal might come from. No question, this was way better.

Without another thought he stuffed the flyer into the trashcan under his desk and smoothed out his homework to start on. 

*

Jason was in charge of cleaning his own room. It was part of his deal with Bruce when he very first moved in. Jason cleaned his room and nobody else ever stepped inside it unless Jason invited them, or it was an emergency. What kind of emergency Bruce expected him to have in his bedroom was beyond him and the qualifier had left him suspicious for months, but so far, no one had crossed that boundary without his express permission. He was beginning to figure it was just another paranoid Batman thing. 

But, while Jason cleaned his own room, Alfred still preferred to take out the trash on a set schedule and didn’t like Jason leaving his until it was full before he emptied it. So every Friday morning he’d set his little trashcan outside his bedroom door and when Alfred went to clean up after Bruce and do whatever other tidying he did in the other, empty, rooms he’d clear up Jason’s trash with it. Jason figured he didn’t mind walking his little plastic bin down to the kitchen to empty it there instead but Alfred insisted. He had a certain way of things or whatever, Jason wasn’t gonna argue. 

So far it made things easier for him anyway and it had yet to bite him in the ass. Until now.

It was dinner time and when Jason came to the table he spotted a familiar piece of crumpled paper sitting innocuously next to Bruce’s elbow, where he already sat waiting. That was unusual in itself but seeing the paper that he clearly recognized by the brightly colored display made him instantly on edge. 

Bruce smiled when he saw him, the forced kind that always made Jason wary, slowing his steps to the table. Willis used to look at him like that when he wanted something out of him. He _hated_ playing lookout for his dad.

But Willis wasn’t his dad anymore, he reminded himself, taking the seat diagonal from Bruce. 

“How was school?” He asked, not acknowledging the flyer at all while Alfred started bringing things to the table. 

“Fine,” he answered back, not in the mood to be led around to whatever he apparently did wrong. 

“Nothing new or interesting this time?” 

Alfred set a glass of water in front of his plate and Jason took the distraction to thank him, offering only a shrug back to Bruce as the butler vanished back into the kitchen. Jason could only see blankness in his expression; good or bad, he didn’t know. 

“Your classes are all still going well?”

Jason reached forward to serve himself, frowning. “Why?”

Bruce hesitated, one hand hovering above his fork but not quite picking it up. “Because...” he started, seeming even a little confused by the question, “I’d like to know if you’re having any trouble. So we can help, if you need it.”

Jason dropped the serving spoon back in the dish with a clatter and grit his teeth, “I’m not stupid.”

Bruce froze, a look of pure bafflement crossing his face. “I never said you were.”

“I already did all your tutoring sessions and shit, I’m caught up, I’m fine,” Jason spoke to the serving dish in the center of the table, scowling at it. He didn’t know what this had to do with the flyer, Bruce asked him all the time how his classes were going and maybe Jason was making it into more than it was but it always grated. Like they expected him to always need help, like he couldn’t figure it out on his own. 

“I know that...” Bruce said slowly, eyeing him a little more intensely now, like he was looking for something. “Every kid needs help with their homework sometimes,” he finally concluded, staring at Jason for an extended moment before he nodded to himself and reached for his own food, like the situation was resolved. 

Jason shuffled broccoli around his plate and scowled harder, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Willis never beat around the bush when he was mad, but Jason had known plenty of people who did. There was an old pimp in his neighborhood that the girls had hated. He’d come around acting happy to see them, and that was always when you knew he was mad. 

But now, as Jason waited for Bruce to just get on with it — he started asking what he wanted to do over the weekend, like all was fine and dandy. “I don’t mind if you stay out later tonight, if you’d like, since there’s no school tomorrow, but only an hour or so, I don’t want your sleep schedule to get too far off.”

Jason nodded, watching him, eyes flicking to the flyer still as Bruce Just... made small talk.

But Jason couldn’t seem to stop looking at the forgotten paper, gaze darting back and forth and barely listening enough to offer responses until the roiling in his gut finally erupted and he cut through Bruce’s next sentence like he hadn’t been speaking.

“Can you just tell me why I’m in trouble for throwing away a stupid flyer?” 

Bruce stopped mid word, closing his mouth slowly, expression as hard to read as it ever was. “You’re not in trouble,” he said, tone level.

Jason leaned over his plate, elbows digging into the wood of the table like he knew Alfred hated. “Then why did Alfred pull it out of my trash? Better yet why are you going through my trash? What do you think I’m hiding, huh?”

A stupid, overly confrontational question that left him red in the face and tight in the chest. It wasn’t that there weren’t things Jason was hiding. There was a well stocked stash of non-perishable foods in a spare backpack stuffed in the attic that spoke for itself but Bruce didn’t need to know about that. 

The man leveled him with a look, a blank, but serious expression that never failed to make Jason quail despite his best efforts. He ducked his head, feeling his ears go pink as he pushed his food around his plate, not feeling hungry in the least. Embarrassed and not even knowing why.

But not knowing what this was about made his stomach roll. He didn’t need this beating-around-the-bush bullshit. If Bruce was gonna punish him or scold him or whatever, he just wanted to get it over with.

He reminded himself that Bruce wasn’t like his dad; punishments in the manor so far were things like an early bedtime and doing the dishes, maybe being benched for the night. But it had only been a few months, and Bruce was still so damn unreadable. Jason wasn’t betting on anything yet. 

He wished he could just figure this place out, and Bruce too. He used to do plenty himself that was now suddenly off limits, things he’d get in trouble for, or receive disappointed looks over or, sometimes worse, _shock_ , like Bruce couldn’t believe he was dumb enough to think this very-normal-thing was ok.

The first time he’d walked the mile down the road to the bus stop and took a ride into the city Bruce had nearly had a heart attack, acting like he’d scared him on purpose or something. Not like he didn’t go literally everywhere by himself before. 

He understood, afterwards, that he probably should’ve told one of them where he was going at least, but being banned from traveling by himself at all was not what he’d expected. Nor was having a cell phone forced on him so they could reach him if he wasn’t with them. They insisted their travel ban wasn’t a punishment, that it would have been a rule either way, they just hadn’t realized they needed to voice it.

Well, sorry for being independent, Jason had wanted to spit. 

It chafed a little, the new restrictions, just another thing Jason didn’t get. But it was a whole lot better than before. He could put up with it; he just wished he could figure out where the lines were when it felt like they’d been completely redrawn as soon as he moved in here. It felt like he was doing something wrong around every turn.

Jason heard Bruce let out a soft breath through his nose and the crinkle of paper as he picked up the flyer.

“No one was going through your trash. It was on the top and when Alfred went to dump it out he happened to notice it.”

Jason leaned back in his chair, letting himself slump down in the seat. He wanted to accuse him of lying but as far as he could tell Alfred wasn’t much of a liar. At least, not to the family. And there were only a few things in his garbage...

“So what about it then?” He grumbled, digging his fingernail into a chip in the finish at the edge of the table, not looking up.

Bruce was quiet and Jason tried to sneak a glance at him through the corner of his eye. He was staring at the paper, a frown on his face, before he set it back down and said, “You know you can always ask me if you want something, Jay.”

He scoffed without really meaning to and then immediately clamped his mouth shut. Stupid. So stupid. When he chanced a look up, the frown had spread to include a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“I’m serious. I’m not saying I’ll always say yes, but I’d never be upset that you asked. If you’d told me in time, I would have taken you.” He had a hand resting flat on the paper, but he was looking right at Jason.

He turned his attention back to his half eaten meal, uncomfortable without totally knowing why. It was weird when Bruce said shit like that, he didn’t make _sense_ and Jason never knew how to respond.

And something about it twisted in his gut. It had only been the night before. They’d only missed it by a day. 

“It’s fine, who says I even wanted to go?” Jason shrugged, stuffing a piece of chicken in his mouth even though he didn’t want it. He wasn’t gonna waste food. 

But of course, then Bruce looked all disappointed for some reason and Lord, Jason didn’t understand him and his weird, micro-expressions and he hated that _that_ one was so easy to read. Why did they care if he had wanted to go? Shouldn’t they be happy he didn’t bug them with all his shit all the time?

“You calculated the sales tax to the tickets, Jay,” Bruce said quietly, almost gentle and Jason bristled. “You don’t need to worry about the price of things anymore-“

“It was just f-riggin’ math practice, Bruce, jeez. We’re doing decimals.”

The frown didn’t leave. “Jay-

_“What?”_

He didn’t know why he was suddenly angry, or upset, or whatever, but he could feel the heat of it in his stomach, sour and stinging. He just wanted to stop _talking_ about it. 

There was a tick in Bruce’s jaw that made him sink a little further in his seat, a wary caution quickly extinguishing the heat. But his voice was still level when he next spoke.

“You’re allowed to want things. Even things you don’t need.”

Jason scoffed, even while he felt his face go scarlet, stomach flipping unexpectedly. But still, he rolled his eyes. It didn’t matter.

“If I thought something was too expensive I would say so, but that is not part of the decision that you need to make.”

“I get it, you’re rich. We all know.” Jason grouched, wondering, fleetingly, where Alfred was when you needed him.

“Jason-“

“Bruce, it’s fine. I told you,” he did his best to sound nonchalant, leaning forward again to take a bite of the dinner he didn’t want, just to prove how much he didn’t care. “It’s not a big deal, it was folded up in my math homework, I was just practicing. I really didn’t care.”

Even though he couldn’t hide the little doodle of the star and pentagon symbol. Jason had talked about the series before and it was one of those things Bruce would probably remember because he was friggin’ Batman. When Jason looked back up he seemed unconvinced, lips a flat line. He still nodded though, turning his attention back to his food.

“Alright. As long as you know, if something like this comes up in the future, I’d like to know. It would be fun to take you.”

Jason tried not to make a face but wasn’t entirely sure he succeeded. “Yeah, ok.” He somehow doubted it. He didn’t see what could be fun about it for Bruce, but he wasn’t gonna argue that one.

Finally Bruce slid the flyer to the side, and didn’t look at it again.

But Jason - he couldn’t seem to ignore it after that. There was a twinge of disappointment that he hadn’t just said something when he still could have. They could’ve gone, if something didn’t come up. 

Jason knew that kind of thing happened. Willis sometimes used to say he’d take him out for burgers and then he’d end up not showing, come home late ‘cause somebody offered him a ‘job’ or something, legal or otherwise. 

It was better that he didn’t say anything.

Even with Bruce’s assurance that he wanted to know about this sort of thing Jason just felt like... _sure_ he was allowed to want things, everybody was, but that didn’t mean they got to have them all.

Patrol was extended, like Bruce said, and it was nice, _fun_ even. Jason loved being Robin, but he also felt a lot more tired than usual when he came back to the cave. As he struggled out of his uniform and trudged to the showers he wasn’t entirely sure it was from staying up late. Some things just felt heavy, even when you knew they were the right thing.

Bruce didn’t get it. He’d grown up with everything. He didn’t know what his money actually meant, what it was really worth. Jason did, and however the man wanted to waste it, Jason wasn’t going to. He’d already been spirited away to a mansion on a hill and was living his stupid fairy tale life, complete with secret identities. There were plenty of people still living with just as little as he used to. Jason wasn’t about to ask for more. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early chapter because it's very short. I've decided not to aim for a specific chapter length with this fic and just go with my gut on it....so be prepared for them to vary wildly lol.

Jason didn't think much about the book signing incident after it happened. Unfortunately for him though, Bruce was suddenly _paying attention_ because of it. Not that he hadn’t been before, but now it was like he had an eagle eye for anytime Jason avoided things that cost money. 

It was maybe a week later. He’d done his Robin training after school, the whole set that Bruce had assigned, without complaint. He was a sweaty mess afterward but Bruce had said he did a good job. Since then he’d showered, eaten dinner, done his homework in the library, and was now curled up on the couch reading a book.

Bruce found him an hour or so in, though Jason hadn’t noticed at first. He _might_ have nodded off sitting up with the book on his chest. 

“Jay,” came a low voice, startling him up, clutching the book in a suddenly tense grip. He relaxed slowly, when he saw Bruce standing with his hands propped on the back of the couch looking mildly apologetic. “Why don’t you go to bed Jay? You’re already falling asleep.”

Jason scowled, clutching the book to his chest. “It’s barely eight.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Is that a crime?”

“ _Yes_.”

Bruce huffed a breath through his nose and shook his head. “Well why don’t we go watch something, then? I need to stop staring at paperwork before it starts making sense again.” 

Jason groaned at the bad joke but closed his book. “I could go for that, Mrs. Marston said there’s a movie version of Hamlet with David Tennet in it that’s great.”

Bruce paused in turning away from the couch, an unidentifiable expression passing over his face before he continued on.

Jason was halfway up from the cushions and stopped, book held tightly in one hand. “What?”

He hated when Bruce did that, like he was glitching out. It was usually over nothing but Jason was used to reading into that stuff. 

Willis always tensed before he started yelling. 

Bruce turned his head toward him, mouth tugging down on one side. “I’m pretty sure that movie is about three hours long, is all.”

Jason rolled his eyes, throwing his head back dramatically, the stiffness draining away. “You’re so old sometimes.”

Bruce coughed out a laugh as he stopped and leaned his back against the couch, arms crossing over his chest. “I’m hurt,” he said as he motioned for Jason to get up. “You have school in the morning though, I don’t want you up too late.”

Jason scoffed. “It’ll be eleven, how _late_.”

As of right now, Jason was only allowed out on patrol three nights a week, Friday and Saturday, and then whatever weeknight he chose for himself. Bruce said they would up it to four once he was more experienced. Jason, of course, insisted that he would gain experience faster if he went out more often but Bruce, so far, hadn’t seen the light. He could be annoyingly stubborn, acting like he knew everything. But whatever. In the meantime, Jason was staying in tonight.

Bruce dropped a hand to the back of the couch as Jason finally climbed to his feet, marking his place in the book and leaving it on the side table. “Hmm,” was all Bruce said in return, a disapproving lilt to it but no outright refusal. Then he led the way down the hall toward the den and Jason followed.

“I’m gonna be staying up late a lot once you up my nights out as Robin,” Jason pushed, a little riskily, pulling on the drawstrings of his hoodie and biting his lip.

Bruce hummed again, a non committal noise that had Jason swallowing back nerves and shuffling his feet. He’d only been Robin for about a month now, training consistently for two. He worried sometimes that Bruce didn’t think he was good enough to fill the position. That he wasn’t enough like Dick, who’d come to him already knowing gymnastics and all kinds of things.

Trying to shake the thought he suddenly pulled ahead, dashing into the den with a burst of nervous energy. He leapt over the armrest of the couch and curled up on the end, pulling a blanket off the back to wrap up in. 

Bruce followed at a more sedate pace, and moved like he might ruffle Jason’s hair when he walked passed. Catching the movement out of the corner of his eye made him flinch though, and Bruce quickly pulled his hand back to his side, slowing in his steps for a moment. Jason flushed, hunkering deeper into the blanket around his shoulders. He didn’t try that very often, and sometimes it was fine because Jason saw it coming, but other times _this_ happened. He just hoped Bruce wouldn’t say anything. Every time he _apologized_ for shit like that it was just so awkward and embarrassing. 

So Jason’s reflexes were in overdrive sometimes, it wasn’t Bruce’s fault. 

Thankfully, after only a split second pause Bruce continued on, rounding the other side of the couch and taking a seat next to him. He handed Jason the remote after a moment.

“Pick whatever you want, if you can find Hamlet, we’ll watch.” 

Jason snuggled down into the blankets, starting up the tv with the Universal remote and going through various streaming services. There was nothing on the first or the second. He found it on the third for a purchasing fee but skipped it in favor of looking at a fourth, but they didn’t have it either. A little disappointed, Jason huffed a sigh but figured, _oh well_ , they’d watch something else. There were plenty of Shakespeare renditions in the world. 

Except that when he backed out of the last search and went to look for something else Bruce stopped him. “What are you doing?”

Jason shrugged. “Seeing what else there is.”

“Why?” Bruce asked, stretching an arm out across the back of the couch. He seemed genuinely confused and Jason was too for half a second before he realized. Bruce wanted him to buy it. Or he wanted Jason to _ask_ to buy it. And Jason thought about it, for a second, before his throat went inexplicably dry.

It was only available to buy, not rent, so it wasn’t just a measly four or five dollars like it might have been. Instead of the price of a sandwich or a hotdog it was $15, something more like a new pair of shoes at the consignment store. Jason wiggled his toes under the blanket, remembering every pair of fancy new shoes in his closet. 

“It says it’s three hours long, like you said,” he shrugged, “thought you were exaggerating.”

Bruce was still for a moment, arm still stretched across the back of the couch, behind Jason but not touching him. “Alright,” he said after a moment, “as long as that’s the only reason.”

Jason yawned, right on cue, and nodded. “I’m just tired.”

“Hn, are you getting old?” Bruce wondered aloud, making Jason stop his scrolling just to peek a foot out of his blanket to shove him in the. leg.

“If _I’m_ old what does that make you?”

Bruce reached down and pushing his foot back to the couch cushion. “A fair point.” He patted the top of it and then paused.

“Your feet are freezing.”

Jason grunted, pulling his foot away from the offending hand.

“Why don’t you have any socks on?”

“I don’t know,” Jason shrugged, “I was hot when I got out of the shower.”

Bruce hummed unhappily and then shifted his weight forward, like he was going to stand up. “Where are you going?” Jason asked, dropping the remote in his lap.

“To get you a pair of socks,” Bruce said, raising a hand toward him and then hesitating. Jason watched it slowly retract and slip into his pocket with a slight sinking in his gut as Bruce moved toward the door. “Pick something before I get back.”

“I don’t need-“ But Bruce was already halfway out the door and Jason heaved a sigh, burrowing further into his blanket. 

The hair ruffling thing was _fine_. It didn’t bother him. He just hated when it caught him off guard because his body always overreacted and Bruce would look all concerned when he flinched and sometimes it came with a rush of adrenaline that left him anxious for an hour for _no reason._

But sometimes when Bruce pulled back, giving him all this _space_ and never touching him unless it was to train him in hand to hand or to bandage a cut...he didn’t know, just — sometimes he remembered his mom threading fingers through his hair and he missed it. 

A lot. 

*

The socks, when Bruce brought them back, were _huge_. 

Jason took the pair, in one hand and stared for a moment, utterly confused. He was fairly certain he didn’t have any socks in _Bruce’s_ size and - oh, they must be Bruce’s.

“Why did you bring me _your_ socks?” He asked, halfway to laughing as he unfolded them and bent forward to put them on. 

Bruce settled back on the couch with a sigh and eyed the tv, the title of the movie Jason had chosen displayed in front of an ancient royal dining hall, waiting for them to push play. He glanced over at the question as he stretched an arm over the back of the couch behind Jason. 

“I didn’t want to go into your room. I figured these would work.” 

Jason stared for a moment, blinking before he ducked his head and tugged them on, swallowing roughly. 

It wasn’t like it was a big deal. Bruce had _said_ he wouldn’t go in without asking. But that was kind of the point, because he hadn’t even when it really wouldn’t have mattered; and Jason’s room was a lot closer than Bruce’s. 

Maybe it was stupid but, people had lied to Jason plenty and..it sort of meant a lot. 

He scooted back on the couch, pressing himself into the cushions until he felt the back of his head bump up against Bruce’s wrist and pressed play. 

The intro music started and Jason settled in, a small pulsing ache in the base of his chest that felt nice and hurt at the same time. He eyed the space between them on the couch and glanced up at Bruce, looking back toward the tv with half lidded eyes. 

He thought briefly about scooting closer, but that would be weird. Jason wasn’t his real kid and Bruce might take it the wrong way. He thought Jason had all kinds of wrong ideas about things from his time on the streets and...no, he’d just stay where he was. 

The movie was nice, though.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some slight warnings in end notes!

The next time Bruce’s sharp eyes narrowed in on Jason wasn’t until a few weeks later. 

Things were going well still. Jason had gotten a progress report in the mail that showed straight A’s other than a B+ in Math. Alfred had served them chocolate cake after dinner that night, since it was his favorite. He was still only going out three nights a week but even if Bruce didn’t really see it, Jason could feel himself improving.

He was still skinny and short as shit but there were real muscles under his skin now and he didn’t have to take breaks so often when they were grappling across the city. He’d helped a lost kid find their mom the other night and...well, it was going good. Things were good. 

There was even a field trip Jason had been looking forward to. It was to the Natural History Museum and Bruce had volunteered to be a chaperone, much to Jason’s annoyance. The other kids already thought he was a nerd and now his guardian was volunteering to attend field trips. Jason was never gonna be cool. 

But despite being uneasy about the man just _watching_ him all day...It ended up being kinda neat, to get to see it all with Bruce. 

Quietly, when no one was paying attention, he pointed out the skeleton of a particular dinosaur and crouched next to Jason, looking up at it. “That’s a Thanatotheristes degrootorum.”

Jason stared for a moment. “It looks like a T-Rex.”

Bruce huffed, standing close enough that Jason could feel him there, despite not touching him. “It is a Tyrranosaurid, they’re related. But this is the first one of it’s kind ever identified. They thought it was a T-Rex at first, when they initially unearthed it.”

Jason stared up at it for a moment. “What’s the difference?”

Bruce rested an arm across his folded leg and gestured with a lax wrist. “Well, it’s larger than a T-Rex, and the arms are slightly different.” He pointed out the angle of the claws and Jason stared again, fascinated.

“Huh.”

Bruce nodded next to him, patting his own knee before standing back up as their group came in behind them, crowding around the display so Jason could barely see over the tops of their heads.

“How do you know that anyway?” Jason asked as they moved back so the other kids could get closer. 

Bruce hummed quietly to himself before responding, “There’s an online paleontology magazine that features different exhibits across the world.” He paused, and Jason turned his head to blink up at him. 

“You’re into dinosaurs?“ He asked, voice more skeptical than he was aiming for. 

Bruce shrugged, waiting until a woman and a little girl walked passed while he glanced around them briefly. He gave Jason a surreptitious look and leaned down enough that he could speak close to his ear with a lowered voice. “The T-Rex in the cave was modeled after a specific skeleton that I believe is somewhere in the United states, though I can’t be sure if it’s on display or being studied. It’s become a sort of hobby to try to find it. I read a lot about dinosaur exhibits in my spare time.”

“It’s modeled after a-“

“Keep your voice down,” Bruce warned softly, making Jason shift to a half whisper midway through his sentence. 

“-after an actual dinosaur? Like one that was alive at some point?”

Bruce nodded slowly, “Yes. There were extensive spec sheets in the records we found on the island it came from. The man was going for absolute realism as much as possible, after all.”

Jason was a little floored by the mystery of it. One of Bruce’s first missions with Dick and some psycho with robotic dinosaurs tries to kill them. 

“Is that why you chose the T-Rex to bring back? Instead of one of the others?”

Bruce cracked a very slight half smile and glanced over. “I do enjoy a good mystery.” 

Jason grinned in return, wondering if he could figure it out if he looked into it. Though, if Bruce hadn’t yet, he probably wouldn’t either. But maybe they could look together, if he was willing to share what he’d already worked through...maybe.

*

They moved on after a bit, winding through the rest of the museum slowly, Bruce imparting little facts quietly only to him, giving broad smiles and easy laughs to the rest. It was bizarre, and slightly creepy, but also kind of...Jason wasn’t sure. It felt kind of special, sort of? That Bruce so obviously reserved his real self for just him, right now. Like he was really family.

He shook the thought as he cleared his throat, trudging along through a display of cavemen. It was a cool day all in all, Jason enjoyed himself, and he learned a lot. It wasn’t until they hit the gift shop that it became uncomfortable.

He knew it was coming at the end of the tour, every museum and zoo always ended in a gift shop. When it was him and his mom, the rare times they ever did this sort of thing, they only went when it was free to attend. The Gotham Zoo had free entry for children under eight plus one guardian on Wednesday afternoons. Jason had only ever gotten to pick something out at the shop one time, when he’d been six and had won a stuffed animal of his choice when he’d gotten a question about raptors correct after the children’s information session. He’d picked out a hawk.

Normally, his mom would let him look around and touch things, and then she’d tell him, “Say goodbye to the nice animals.” And they’d wave to the otters and elephants and Jason would go home and draw pictures of all the things he saw.

Now, he wandered around perusing the shelves, content to keep his hands to himself. There were stuffed dinosaurs, a few mammoths, some really huge books, a $3000 replica of a caveman, some random chintzy jewelry...nothing that really interested Jason. He liked books, sure, but he preferred fiction.

But then he came across something interesting.

They had a series of 3D puzzles that would build into dinosaurs. A Stegosaurus, Brachiosaurus, T-Rex, Raptor, and Pterodactyl.

They came with little information booklets, and a free subscription to an online magazine about paleontology. He wondered if it was the same one Bruce had mentioned. They even had special stands with little lights to display them when they were completed. 

Jason would have thought they were neat but overpriced regardless of what they were — but for the T-Rex. The image on the box had the same pose as the model in the cave and Jason thought about it sitting on his desk in his room like a little secret connection to that. To their other lives.

Of course, it was $70 when he looked at the price and his stomach didn’t even sink because he’d _known_ it would be expensive. It wasn’t just a cheap stuffed animal, after all. 

He still picked up the box, just to look at, not even entertaining the idea of buying one. He turned it over to read the directions and special features. It was a passing interest, nothing more.

Would be cool to work on though, maybe....especially if Bruce helped him, like when they sometimes worked on the Batmobile together. But it didn’t matter, it was way too much money and Jason sure as hell wasn’t asking for some dumb 3D model dinosaur that cost more than two months worths of his mom’s old medication...back when she’d been on it. 

He swallowed, feeling the weight of the box in his hands and sort of wishing he hadn’t seen it. He just wanted to leave suddenly, feeling oddly apprehensive to look at anything else, lest he find _another_ expensive thing to silently pine after. 

Jason glanced around for Bruce, intent on heading toward the door and maybe just waiting outside. It was sunny and warm, which would be a good enough excuse any day in Gotham. But as soon as he looked up he jumped.

“B,” he breathed out, embarrassed by how much it had startled him.

He smiled a little, obviously catching the flinch, before his eyes narrowed in on the box still in Jason’s hands. “What’s this?”

“Nothing,” Jason quickly set it back on the shelf, careful to straighten it to match the others before he turned to fully face Bruce.

Bruce glanced down at him, eyebrows raised, and then stepped carefully around him, Jason turning to continue facing him. Then he reached out and picked up the box. 

Out of nowhere — Jason felt incredibly anxious. He had to take a deep breath against the sudden tightness in his throat and chest, swallowing painfully as a hazy memory began to surface without his permission.

He’d be seven, he was pretty sure, at the store with his dad.

“They’re just stupid models,” he said now, voice coming out quieter than he meant it to as he shuffled to the side, resisting the urge to wring his hands as he distanced himself from the display. 

Back then, he’d pulled a plastic horse and cowboy toy off of a shelf where someone had abandoned it in the snack aisle. He’d just been following his dad around with it, playing quietly by himself. They’d walked up to the counter to pay without him noticing, nearly bumping into the backs of Willis’s legs. 

Without warning the toy was yanked out of his hands.

_“What is this? Where’d you get this?”_

_Jason startled, two knuckles throbbing where plastic legs had scraped over them, blinking up at his dad, immediately anxious. “I just-“_

_“You think we have money for your stupid cowboy toys?” He shoved it at the clerk, who looked as equally startled as Jason, “Put that away before my idiot son steals it.”_

_“I wasn’t gonna-!” Jason tried to explain, shame burning his cheeks, that he hadn’t intended for them to take it home at all. But his dad didn’t listen._

_“Don’t, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve got enough shit to worry about with your mom. I don’t need you whining about toys.” He’d nearly spit on the cashier, who looked stiff and uncomfortable as she set the toy aside and gave Jason a strained smile._

_He ducked his chin, doing his best to blink back the stinging in his eyes. “Oh great,” he heard his dad mutter above him, “now with the water works.”_

Jason blinked the memory back and found Bruce staring at him, box still held carefully in both hands.

“Jay? Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Jason said back, with more force than necessary, “why wouldn’t it be?”

Bruce’s eyes slowly panned over the distance between them and Jason realized that he was standing nearly five feet away. He could feel heat pooling in his face and took a few steps forward, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“I was just thinking I’m getting kind of bored.” He shrugged, glancing at the door. 

Bruce continued to stare at him for a moment, and then down at the model dinosaur again, a thoughtful expression on his face while Jason’s inexplicable anxiety continued to feel like ants crawling over his skin. “I can just wait outside for the other kids, when everybody’s done.” 

“No.” Bruce looked up, and Jason resisted the urge to step back again. “You’re not supposed to be separated from the group...Is something wrong, Jay?”

“No,” Jason bit out, scowling for how weird he knew he was acting and unable to just quit it. 

Bruce shifted the box in his hands, tilting it back and forth between his palms before he asked, “Did you want one of these?”

Jason scoffed, turning away again and focusing on a display of geodes, resisting the urge to retreat back to where he’d been standing, completely out of a reach. 

A whole other slew of memories were crowding out the more reasonable thoughts in his head. Like the time the cashier at the minimart had yelled angrily _, “I can see you kid!_ ” from across the store when all Jason had done was pick up a couple cans of tuna. 

He hadn’t even been planning to take them; he’d had money, at the time. But he’d put them back instead, face hot with shame at his dirty clothes and hair and what everybody thought when they looked at him. 

But they were in public, Jason reminded himself. Bruce wouldn’t yell at him, he had to keep up his Brucie persona and — and Jeez Bruce wasn’t even like that. Jason _knew_ that. Sort of. 

He hadn’t been yet, anyway. 

His silence still made Jason swallow roughly in response, trying not to hunch his shoulders. 

“Jay-“

“I don’t want a stupid dinosaur toy.” He spit, louder than he meant to, closing his eyes briefly at the tell. It certainly wasn’t gonna help his case if he made Bruce mad by snapping. And he _wasn’t_ mad, Jason didn’t think. He didn’t know why he was being like this. 

Jason could at least spare a single moment to be thankful that the other kids were more interested in the shitty jewelry and the aquatic dinosaur toys than nerdy, scientific models. 

When Jason glanced behind him at the quiet that followed, Bruce’s frown was deeper than he expected. He set the box down slowly and finally turned away from the shelves to better face Jason. “It’s not a toy,” he said, a wrinkle in his forehead like he got when he was working on a difficult case. “It’s a scientific model that you build yourself. It’s basically school work, Jay.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, “Yeah and I don’t care about dinosaurs, so can we go?” His tone was biting, and loud enough that Katy, one of the girls in his group, glanced back from a shark tooth necklace and dropped her hand away from the display. 

Jason clenched his jaw, feeling his face warm in embarrassment on top of the churning _something_ in his gut. He didn’t know why it was such a big deal. Didn’t know why Bruce always asked stupid questions all the time. 

He didn’t know why he was overreacting so much either but it was just — It was _$70_. If Jason had shown up at the apartment with something that expensive when Willis was around he would’ve — Jason took a deep breath, pushing down the thought as quick as it came, exhaling slowly like Bruce had tried to teach him in training before. It wasn’t as steady as he’d wanted. 

He blinked and suddenly Bruce was standing right in front of him, hands empty. “Alright, that’s fine, you can go outside.”

His voice was soft and suddenly light, and he moved a hand like he might set it on Jason’s shoulder and quickly aborted the motion, letting it hang awkwardly at his side instead. Jason looked up at his face to see him glancing around the store, counting heads maybe, Jason didn’t know. “The other kids aren’t quite done yet, so I’m going to stay here. But if you want, you can go wait on the bus, ok?”

Jason swallowed, shame crawling up his neck at the abruptly careful voice Bruce was using, how he was still afraid to touch him. He nodded, just wanting to get out of there. 

“Alright,” Bruce nodded, face serious, “but I want you on the bus ok? Not waiting outside by yourself.”

“Fine,” Jason would have said yes to anything at that point if it meant getting out. 

“Ok,” Bruce gave him a simple nod and before he could say another word Jason turned and fled.

He was sure all the other kids thought he was being a freak again. Like the time he’d knocked down Carly Johnson by reflex when she’d grabbed his backpack to get his attention. Didn’t matter that he’d apologized and tried to help her up. He was little street kid Jason Todd with all the _issues_. 

But he didn’t care, he just needed to get _out_.

When he hit the sidewalk, the clunk of the door and the abrupt temperature change was jarring enough to distract from the way his heart was pounding in his ears. He was sure they were practically glowing and he was briefly glad he’d resisted the haircut Alfred kept trying to force on him so they weren’t on full display.

The sun was hot, enough that his already flushed skin was beginning to sweat even in the short distance from the museum to the buses. 

And the buses. They weren’t normal school buses, like every other public school in the country, they were _charter buses_ with _air conditioning_ because that was the kind of fancy ass private school Jason now attended. They didn’t have them for normal pickups to and from school, not that Jason rode the bus, but if adults were coming along they had to upgrade apparently. It grated even more as he hopped up the steps, but he was thankful enough that the driver was the only one there that he didn’t even think about it. 

And he could admit that the air conditioning was a saving grace right then, with how hot his skin felt.

They’d sat somewhere in the middle of the bus on their way there and left a jacket and a pair of sunglasses stashed in an overhead slot. Jason scanned down the aisle until he saw them and finally slumped down in the window seat underneath Bruce’s ugly windbreaker.

He crossed his arms and then dropped them in his lap, sat up straight and then slid back down in the seat. 

He didn’t want to be sitting. Jason wanted to be running, or pounding a training dummy or practicing with a grapple gun, _something_. Anything that might give reason for how fast his heart was still beating. He tried to take slow breaths, rubbing his hands over his face for a moment, drawing his fingers back through his hair. 

It was such a stupid thing to get upset over. He knew it was. Bruce didn’t care if he wanted stupid models and toys. And he had all the money in the world, if he wanted to blow $70 on a model dinosaur he could. 

Except Jason couldn’t just do that. Having money wasn’t a good enough reason to just throw it away on things. You couldn’t buy stuff all the time just because you _wanted_ it. The very idea put a pit of nausea in Jason’s stomach so deep he had to swallow against snakes trying to climb up his throat. His stomach twisted at the thought that Bruce might just buy it while Jason was waiting on the bus.

He needed to calm down before kids started filtering back on. He tried to do one of the breathing exercises Bruce had taught him for meditation. It never seemed to work as far as that went but it could at least help him calm down.

God he was so pathetic sometimes. That time at the store with the stupid toy — what even was that? It wasn’t even that bad, it was nothing like the time...He shook his head, thinking about that stuff wouldn’t help. Thinking about _anything_ wasn’t helping, except for the breathing. So he concentrated on that. Count to seven as you breathe in, hold for four, out for eight.

As he continued through the exercise he slowly became aware of his fisted hands, so tight his fingernails dug into his palms and he consciously loosened his grip and then tried to relax the muscles in his shoulders. Kids began trickling onto the bus slowly, some with bags in their hands, some without. Jason watched them in silence, counting off heads and reciting names of the ones in his group, waiting apprehensively for Bruce.

As the tension slowly bled out of him and heart beat slowed he began to feel drained, like he _had_ spent time on a training dummy and doing grappling practice. He wanted Bruce to get on the bus so he could stop wondering if he’d have a stupid gift bag with him or not. 

God Jason hoped not.

He remembered one time, Mr. Carson, the old baker on DeLisle st. He’d let him take home cupcakes for his mom’s birthday. They’d been free, just a gift, something nice for the dirt-poor alley kid that hung around sometimes. Jason had been so excited to give them to her but when he’d gotten home Willis had been there, and he hadn’t waited for Jason to explain that he hadn’t _‘wasted money’_ on them.

What that had to do with the way things were _now_ Jason had no idea, since Bruce bought him $90 sneakers, and a new cell phone, even a laptop though Jason was fine using the computer at the library. Bruce had given him an odd look when he’d said that, finally shaking his head. 

_“The library is a lot further away for you now that it was before. It will be better to have one of your own. It’s for school, it’s important.”_

And that was the last he’d said about it, just presented it to Jason a couple days later when it came in the mail. Jason figured, handling it very carefully, if it was for school then ok, he could deal. He’d be careful with it and use the same one until he graduated and maybe they could donate it then or something. He needed an education, the best one he could get, and he wasn’t gonna argue against resources like that.

But expensive necessities were _different_. Even if it still made Jason nervous every time he got dirt on his shoes, he’d at least known he needed some. 

He glanced down at them then, at the black canvas and white rubber soles and propped them up on the black of the seat in front of him. There was a gray smudge on one of the toes and he licked his thumb and went to wipe it off as best he could. 

Before he had the chance to look up again, a shadow fell across him and he stiffened just before Bruce slipped gracefully into the seat next to his. Jason looked up, eyes scanning as much as he could see of the man. He had his hands in his lap and though Jason didn’t catch sight of a bag immediately that didn’t mean he hadn’t slipped it overhead with his jacket. 

“You didn’t get anything?” Jason asked, voice consciously lowered now that there were more people on the bus. 

Bruce looked down at him, where he had slipped low in his seat, half folded over himself. He frowned at the feet propped on the backrest.

“Put your feet down please, and no, I didn’t. You said you didn’t want anything.”

Jason dropped his feet with little care, letting them hit the carpeted floors a little harder than necessary as he shimmied up in his seat.

Bruce was eyeing him steadily, his gaze intense enough for him to look away toward the window.

“Good, I didn’t. I just...“

“Just?” Bruce asked when he trailed off. Jason could hear him shifting around behind him, could see just the outline of his reflection in the window where he sat with his back turned to the aisle.

“Nothing, I was just worried you would anyway,” Jason mumbled.

There was a long quiet, and the blurry silhouette of Bruce in the window didn’t move while Jason concentrated on the heat coming in through the glass.

“Jay,” he said very quietly, in the same voice he got the time Jason had a fucking panic attack, when he’d tried to teach him how to escape a hold. 

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

He meant it to sound final, a no nonsense statement that Bruce wouldn’t touch, but he mostly sounded small and pleading, like a dumb little kid. Jason closed his eyes for a moment, letting his forehead thunk lightly against the window. 

Now that the situation was over he felt exhausted and so so stupid for getting worked up over absolutely _nothing_. If Bruce asked he wouldn’t even know what to say.

But after a long pause and the sound of a deep breath there was a little more shuffling. Jason turned his head away from the window just enough to see Bruce settling back into his seat. “Ok,” he said after a moment, voice still quiet. “we don’t have to talk about it right now.”

Jason nodded against the window, feeling the vibration of the bus start up as chatter got louder and their science teacher had to yell to be heard over everyone while she counted off kids, making sure they were all there.

Jason hated when this shit happened. It had been a fun day and now he’d gone and ruined it by being weird. He wished he could just take it back and not have touched the stupid box to start with. 

With a sigh, he raised his hand when his name was called. “Here!” He called back as he sat up enough to be seen. He dropped his hands into his lap as she moved on and glanced at Bruce who was checking his phone, a small frown on his face as he tapped out something and then quickly stuck it in his pocket. 

Jason felt so stupid, guilt dipping in his gut. Bruce hadn’t gotten mad even when Jason was being a brat and he’d let him come out here by himself, even though he hadn’t wanted him to at first. Jason was always expecting things to go a certain way and then when they didn’t and he just didn’t know what to do with it afterward. 

“I’m sorry for snappin’ at you,” he mumbled, picking lint off his shirt. 

Bruce glanced up, eyebrows raised like he was surprised before his expression faded to something more relaxed. He moved a hand, slow, like Bruce always was with Jason. He watched its path all the way from Bruce’s leg to where it settled on his shoulder and squeezed gently. “I’ve got thick skin.”

Jason snorted, watching Bruce’s hand drop away before he slumped against the window again, to look at the sun streaming through the broken up clouds. He took a deep breath, finding it easier still, and glanced back at Bruce with just his eyes to see him slightly hunched in his seat, knees together, always trying to take up less space in these places. 

Bruce smiled at Katy when she rushed passed for her seat, small and discrete, not like the beaming ones of Brucie Wayne — ‘cause he knew she was shy. 

He looked back at Jason after a pause, like he could sense him staring, and Jason dropped his gaze back to the window, concentrating on the warmth coming in through the glass.

His chest felt heavy with things he wished he could just forget about. Thinking about old shit all the time didn’t help him now even if it used to. 

Bruce wasn’t Willis and Jason was glad for it. Good riddance to his dad. But sometimes he just wished Bruce was normal. 

Or normal for him, he supposed. Which was ridiculous, that he could wish for that. Jason’s normal was pretty damn shitty before.

But at least he didn’t used to embarrass himself around every turn. He’d known what to expect. He didn’t react _inappropriately_ to everything because when Jason got scared there was something to _be_ scared of. 

Now he just went around swinging at ghosts. 

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes against the bright sun in the window and just trying to relax. Bruce didn’t get mad about anything this time and he wasn’t going to today and he could just stop thinking about it. 

It was still a relief, despite how sometimes it felt like he didn’t make any sense. It was a good kind of not making sense...a good kind of nonsense or…maybe not nonsense maybe...maybe it was just...He blinked his eyes back open but they felt heavy, drooping slow blinks until he’d slid halfway down the window and finally propped his chin in his hand.

He heard Bruce let out a rush of air, something amused in the sound of it. “You can sleep,” he murmured after a moment. “I’ll keep watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: a flashback type scene that involves a parent scolding/yelling at a small child. developing symptoms of a panic attack but doesn't get full blown. 
> 
> ________
> 
> So this fic started as a one shot, which developed into a 5 + 1 format which just kind of dove into this whole longer chaptered deal so the first few chapters are all a bit like this before we get to the + 1 part that equals like, half the story at this point lol. There will also be a switch over to Bruce's POV at about that point in this fic, if anyone is interested. 
> 
> Leave me a comment if you feel up to it<3 but please be kind, i don't know what my deal is but I've been weirdly nervous about my writing the last little bit 😅 Love you all<3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in end notes!! There are a few!
> 
> Hoorah here's chapter 4, way longer than intended and also much faster lmao. I decided oh well, I'm just gonna post when I feel the next chapter is ready, I hate holding fic until I feel like it's been "long enough" to post lol. Hope you enjoy!! 
> 
> Please do heed warnings if you have any triggers! I feel like this chapter is just a lot closer to what a lot of regular people have experienced than most of the vigilante based trauma...

The next time money got the best of Jason Todd, Bruce wasn’t even there. Actually, Alfred wasn’t there either really. He wasn’t even sure it could be described as the “next time” since technically, it happened years ago.

*

It was a three day weekend. A teacher training day, and Jason had Friday off from school. 

He would have been fine hanging out in the library all afternoon while Bruce was at work and Alfred did his normal, mysterious stuff he did while Jason was at school. But instead, Alfred had invited Jason on his errands. 

Jason had felt mildly suspicious at first, wondering if this was gonna end in some sort of doctor visit or something. Alfred had given him an exasperated half lidded stare before he sighed. “I would not trick you into a doctor visit, Master Jason, that would be quite discourteous of me. and besides, we have everything we would need for vaccinations here at the cave.”

He’d blushed and ducked his head at being caught out so specifically. It wasn’t like any of them could forget that particular doctor visit. 

“You are not due for anything at the moment anyhow, I simply thought the company might be nice.” He hadn’t said anything after that. Just put down the dish towel he’d been drying a glass with and looked at Jason in question.

“I mean, sure I guess.”

And so he’d ended up in the front seat of a Buick Regal while Alfred took them first to the post office, then to the bank, a short trip to pick something up at the custom shoe shop, and finally, they’d landed at the grocery store. 

It had ended up being kind of cool. Like, it was nice to just chat with Alfred, and driving around the city while they talked about Shakespeare and baseball sort of reminded Jason of when he was really small, and his dad sometimes took him around for the day. He’d been a total asshole yeah, but there were good moments scattered through the bad ones and sitting up on his knees in the passenger seat of their old Dodge Omni so he could see out the window was one of ‘em. 

Willis would put on music and sing to the Eagles or Kansas or something, voice scratchy from cigarettes but almost better for the soft rasp of it. 

He was thinking about it idly when they made it to the grocery store, as they walked through the aisles, remembering when his dad had good days that didn’t turn into shouting or worse. Sometimes Jason actually missed him, when he was being stupid. But he told himself they were all better off without him, and he knew it was true. 

“Something on your mind, Sir?”

“Hm?” Jason whipped his head around, realizing he’d been staring intently at a display of tomatoes. Alfred was looking at him as he dropped a sweet potato into a plastic bag and there was a twitch of a mustache as he set it in his basket and went to move onto their next item. 

“You’ve gone quiet, is all.”

“Oh, nah, it’s nothing.” Jason shrugged. 

“Well,” Alfred said slowly, glancing around the store. It was some fancy upper-crust place with all-organic-locally-sourced-mumbo-jumbo-whatever else and Jason didn’t know the name of half the vegetables for sale. “I wouldn’t mind if you looked around elsewhere if you’re bored, as long as you stay within shouting distance.”

Jason snorted, “I can shout pretty loud, you know.”

“Oh, I am aware; perhaps I will revise. Stay within _my_ shouting distance.”

Jason laughed quietly, not particularly bored but not wanting Alfred to think he needed to rush just because of him. And maybe he was a tiny bit morose. Sometimes the good memories sort of stung because...because why couldn’t it have always been like that?

Didn’t matter, Jason told himself as he wandered passed pre-made salads and fizzy vinegar drinks he would never understand. They had to at least have a junk food aisle, even if it was weird “healthy” versions.

Two aisles down and he hit the jackpot, steadfastly not thinking about Willis, he perused the offerings. There were a lot of gluten and dairy free options, which Jason supposed was fair. He didn’t fault anybody for not being able to eat stuff. There was a kid in Jason’s first grade class who was allergic to corn and he couldn’t eat the school’s food, or most of the stuff from the food bank. It made shit a lot more expensive. 

But there were also fancy jelly candies with organic tapioca and big-fat sugar crystals on the outside. 

There was _tons_ of off-brand sugary cereal that just looked like it’d be disappointing. Shiny boxes with individually wrapped chocolates that were “hand made”. It was all a bit ridiculous. Especially when Jason read the price tags.

He whistled low to himself, nearly laughing at the thought of these rich idiots wasting money on fancy ass candy. Except, it wasn’t all that funny. Or at least, only in an infuriating sort of way. Like when they’d donate shit like _persimmons_ and _avocado_ to the food bank. Just how out of touch were these people? 

Jason trailed his hands across the price stickers as he wandered down the aisle until he paused, standing in front of an oddly familiar sight. There were yellow lemon candies in a glass jar with a rubber-lined resealable lid that made the breath freeze in his lungs. 

He stared, blinking at them for a long time.

The label was embossed on the glass, an old timey stamped in design that he couldn’t stop from running the pad of his thumb over.

They used to have these at the old candy store, he remembered. Not like this, but the cheap kind. They’d been his favorite. Mostly because you could buy them by weight and it was barely 50 cents to get four or five of ‘em. They didn’t come in individual little plastic wrappers like the ones in the jar, just plain. And Jason’s palms would be yellow and sticky before he finished the last one.

His dad though, had bought him a jar like this one once. Just like the one on the shelf. It...wasn’t one of the good memories.

He’d been eight, and his mom needed to bring him to work with her at the diner because Willis had been working that night too, down at the docks, and none of their neighbors could babysit. She’d set him up with some kid’s menus he could color on and some broken crayons and he’d occupied himself well enough in a corner booth while she waited tables. 

It was near the end of her shift, if Jason remembered correctly, when Willis had shown up out of nowhere. He was swaying slightly on his feet and clutching that same glass jar of yellow candies.

*

_“Willis...what are you doing here, Honey?”_

_Jason stopped coloring, seeing the stiffness in his mom’s posture and already knowing something wasn’t right._

_“What, you ain’t happy to see me?”_

_He raised his hands out to the side in a wide gesture and his mom took a small step back. One of the cooks was staring through the kitchen window with a flat, narrow eyed stare._

_“I didn’t say that. I just wasn’t expecting you.”_

_“Well, I’m here.” He gestured to himself with a cigarette before taking a long drag and letting it out._

_“Sir,” the cook who’d been staring raised his voice to be heard through the restaurant, “you can’t smoke in here.”_

_Catherine flashed a glance to the kitchen, hands balling into fists as the people at the table near the door quietly gathered up their things and slipped out the door._

_“Jesus,” Willis said, a hint of the bitter tone that made Jason want to slide carefully under the table before he was noticed. “Guy can’t even enjoy the simple pleasures in life anymore, huh?” He blew out another irritated breath but reached over and put it out, right on top of a cheaply finished table._

_“Willis,” Catherine hissed, reaching for it in an aborted gesture._

_“Ah come on, live a little,” he said, crowding in close to her. Jason tensed in his seat, eyes darting to the kitchen window and the few customers still scattered around the diner._

_“I brought gifts.” Willis continued, when no one moved. He held up the jar, shaking it so the candies jingled against the glass inside. And then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pink box, a little larger than a can of soda._

_“Will-...” She glanced back at Jason, giving him a small-nervous smile that only made him dig his sharp-little fingernails into the wax of the crayons._

_“What is this about?” she asked in a half whisper when she turned back around._

_“What, I can’t get you something nice?”_

_“You...” She didn’t seem to know how to end her sentence and Jason didn’t blame her. His dad had never just shown up with gifts. And he was moving like he did at home, late in the evenings and on weekends when glass and plastic bottles turned up on their kitchen counters and Jason tried to stay in his room._

_“Come on,” he nudged her with the hand still holding the pink box and Jason could see the edges of it shine under the lights, lined with silver ribbon. It was pretty. “It’s a day to celebrate.”_

_“...is it?” she asked, stepping back again, voice nervous._

_“You don’t like it?” His voice held that warning tone again, the hint of bitter again._

_“I-it’s lovely Willis.”_

_Jason could see the way she curled a hand around the edge of the table they stood near, the way it shook._

_“Come on, take it.” He gestured toward her, fumbling to set down the jar of candy as he held up the box._

_“My shift if almost over Will, we could-“_

_“Take it,” he barked, almost shaking it at her._

_Jason couldn’t see her face but she held very still for a moment, finally reaching forward slowly and taking it with both hands. He stood back and stared at her while she set it on the table, sliding a nail under the edge of the seal before she carefully lifted the lid. She paused, staring at its contents before she pulled out a pink, frosted glass bottle with a silver spray nozzle._

_She held it up to her nose briefly and sniffed. “It smells beautiful,” she said, sounding surprised._

_Jason watched her head flit to the side, making eye contact with a woman who’d come out from the back as she tied an apron around her waist. Catherine mouthed something to her but she just shook her head, going to handle the few unattended tables._

_Willis leaned forward without warning and planted a kiss on Catherine’s cheek and she leaned just slightly away. “You look beautiful, and now you’ll smell it too.” He grinned and Jason couldn’t see her face, still, and he didn’t know if he should get up and go over there or stay where he was. His mom always told him to stay out of it when they talked but he hated it when he yelled at her. Not that he was, right then but...it didn’t feel right._

_Suddenly, Willis looked around Catherine, “Where’s the kid?” he asked, gaze roving the restaurant before they quickly zeroed in on him, wide eyed and still in his corner booth. “Hey, there you are, I got you something.”_

_He picked up the candy again, swaying on over to the table. Jason didn’t move an inch, resisting shrinking away, keeping his eyes on him the whole time. The glass jar hit the table with a loud clatter, right on top of Jason’s drawing and Jason noticed in the back of his mind, staring at the jar, that Willis smelled like he always did when he was angry. He didn’t get it, and it made him nervous. But staying quiet wasn’t what his dad wanted apparently because he snapped, “Aren’t you gonna say thank you?”_

_Jason felt his face flush, teeth clamped shut and stomach flipping when his mom piped up, approaching from behind. “Willis, he’s just surprised. You like them don’t you, Baby?” She asked him, coming up next to his dad. She gave him that same shaky smile from before and Jason set down his crayons, hands wringing in his lap._

_It wasn’t her good smile, not the one she gave him when he drew her pictures at school, or when he showed her the books he was reading._

_He nodded, because he didn’t want them to fight, and said, “Thank you,” quietly, reaching out and pulling the jar toward him, running his fingers over the ridges of the label._

_“Have one,” Willis insisted, knocking his knuckles on the tabletop, making Jason jump. And so Jason fumbled with the metal latch at the top, unable to get it open on the first try before Willis pulled it out of his hands none too gently._

_“I could do it,” Jason said, voice louder than he meant it to be, frustrated and anxious when his dad scoffed._

_“Yeah and watching you is entertaining and all but we don’t have all night.” He popped the lid open and fished out a wrapper._

_“Here, I’ll do it,” his mom offered, setting the perfume on the table and slipping it out of his hand before he could protest, quickly tearing open the little plastic sleeve and dropping the candy into Jason’s cupped hands as she whispered out of the side of her mouth, “Honey, what are we celebrating?”_

_“That I’m a free man.” He stood up straight, turning to face her with a broad grin. He grabbed her arm, pulling her in for another kiss that she pulled back from._

_“Willis, we’re in public.” She glanced around, face turning just a little pink, his dad’s hand still gripping her arm. Jason looked too, suddenly remembering where they were. The cook was now standing behind the register, arms crossed and staring daggers at Jason’s dad._

_“Ah, you prude,” he grumbled, but he dropped his hand finally, and Catherine relaxed, just a little. “Come on, sit down.” He scooted back, gesturing to the seat next to Jason. She hesitated for just a moment before dutifully squeezing in. Jason scooted down further so she could fit, leaving enough room for another person to join them._

_But, before Willis could take a seat he turned his head, shouting loud enough to travel the entire dining room, “Bring us some milkshakes!”_

_Catherine jumped in her seat and so did Jason, stomach churning in embarrassment as heads around the room swiveled in their direction. The cook, still standing by the register, made a twisted up face, opening his mouth just before the other waitress, the one working the remaining tables, seemed to appear out of nowhere. “What flavor?” she asked, cutting off anything the man was about to say._

_“Three chocolate,” Willis held up a hand, three fingers extended, and Jason watched, lemon candy still clutched in one hand._

_When the other waitress nodded, tapping a pencil to a notepad she tucked in the front of her apron, he finally dropped into the seat next to Catherine._

_“Willis,” she whispered to him, “what do you mean, you’re a free man?”_

_“Aw Jesus, can’t you just take good news for what it is for once!?” He nearly shouted, hands dropping to the table top, the anger Jason had been waiting for climbing in his tone until Jason was clenching and unclenching his hands, warring with sitting up taller and shrinking back, fear and anger twisting up together._

_“...Will-“ She started in a gentle voice, but he was already mad now and he cut her off._

_“I got fucking fired alright?! But screw that piece of shit job anyway. I don’t need ‘em. I’ll do fine on my own!” He slapped a hand to his chest, hard enough that Jason thought it should hurt, face twisting in a grimace as he continued, “And you know what, screw that shithead that runs the docks, he’s nothing. Just some asshole who thinks he’s better than the rest of us. Well fuck ‘im. I’m glad I don’t have to go back there.”_

_His voice shifted, softening from the angry tone back into what it had been. “I’m glad I’m a free man now, I can spend more time with you and Jason, spoil you like you deserve.” He reached out and patted the top of Jason’s candy jar, pretty pink bottle sitting just to its left._

_But Catherine, though Jason couldn’t see her face, was stiff as a board when she hissed, “You lost your job?!”_

_She reached for the pretty-pink bottle, gripping it tightly in one hand. Her softness vanished, replaced with the fire she got whenever Willis went after Jason. “We can’t afford this Willis, even if you_ hadn’t _lost your job, and you know it.”_

_She shook the perfume, liquid sloshing around inside._

_“Oh, I see,” He spoke over her with loud gestures, throwing an arm out to the side as he started getting angry right back. “You don’t even care when I do something nice for you. I was being fucking_ thoughtful _Cath. Maybe be thankful for it, huh? Jesus you ungrateful-“_

_Jason stood up on his knees in the booth, cold plastic upholstery pressing into his skin and spine stiff. “Don’t yell at her!”_

_“Jay,” she spun to him, face tight and sharp. “Sit down.” Her voice was just as jagged, and Jason swallowed, neck and ears hot._

_“But he can’t-“_

_“You don’t tell me what to do, fucking-“_

_“Willis!” She spun back around, curly hair flying through the air, seeming to grow in size with her anger. She didn’t yell, but she might as well have, voice hissed out like a venomous snake. “You don’t get to come yelling about gifts when you show up drunk at my work spending our money like it grows on_ trees.”

_“I ain’t drunk-“_

_“You know I need that medication, Willis,” these words came out quiet, small and desperate and Jason squirmed in his seat, trying to stretch around her so he could see them both, heart pounding in his chest._

_“I’ll get your damn medication.” Willis growled, lower than Jason expected. He scrubbed a hand over his face, scowling at the table top before he announced, “I need to piss,” in a terse voice and levered himself up from the seat._

_Jason watched as he made his way toward the bathroom, gate slightly steadier than it had been. The door swung closed behind him and Catherine exhaled, putting her head in her hands while Jason was left sitting there, staring at the candies in the jar._

_He leaned out to grab it, dragging it toward him and holding the candy he still hadn’t even tried over the top when she grabbed his wrist. “Honey no, what are you doing?”_

_“If I don’t eat one, we can return it later, so you can still-“_

_“Jay, Baby,” she tugged his wrist away, closing the lid with her other hand before she released his arm and brushed his hair away from his face. “It’s ok, eat your candy.”_

_“But-“_

_“It’s fine, Sweetheart, I promise.” She reached for the perfume, spinning the bottle so it clearly faced them. “This is worth a lot more than your candy, and the store might actually take it back later, they won’t want your sweaty lemon drops.”_

_She gave him a twisted half smile, tapping his wrist with one finger and pushing it up toward his face. Finally, after a tense pause, Jason put the candy in his mouth, sour-sweet flavor heavy over his tongue as she eyed his palms and grabbed a napkin. Dipping the corner into her water glass she tugged his arm back out to wipe sticky yellow residue off his skin._

_While she was still at it, the other waitress finally came out of the back, approaching with their shakes. She looked tense, eyes darting to the men’s bathroom when she set her tray down on the table_

_“Catherine,” she said under her breath, urgent._

_“I know, I know...at least the shakes will let him burn off some of the alcohol,” she muttered, wadding up Jason’s dirty napkin and setting it on the tray._

_“He can’t show up here like this. If Laura finds out about it she’ll-“_

_“She’s not gonna find out,” Catherine said in a tight voice, staring at the other waitress with an intense gaze. “Right?”_

_The other woman sighed, shoulders dropping as she moved to pull each shake off her tray, placing them down with a little more force than necessary. “Not from me.”_

_She glanced at Jason, giving him a small smile before she turned her attention back to his mom, speaking so quietly he almost didn’t pick it up. “You know you can do so much better than him, Cathy.”_

_But Catherine didn’t respond. Just pulled a milkshake toward her and took a spoonful in her mouth before she said, “He’s just upset, he lost his job-“_

_“He lost his-“ The other woman’s eyes went wide, looking alarmed when Catherine cut in._

_“It’s fine, we’ll be fine. We always are.” Then she looked over at Jason and smiled. “Aren’t we, Baby?”_

_And he rolled the lemon candy against the backs of his teeth, stomach souring as he looked through the clear glass jar of them, and nodded._

*

He heard Alfred’s voice just before he rounded the end of the aisle.

“Ah, there you are, Lad. Find something you’d like?”

Jason stared, not at Alfred, but at the glass jar still in his hand, thumb running over the label repeatedly. He shook his head as he carefully set it back on the shelf, feeling his stomach curdle while he took shallow breaths and tried to stop thinking about how many times his mom had promised they’d be ok. 

“No,” he said, putting extra effort behind the word so it didn’t come out as a whisper. “I’m ready to go though, if you’re done.”

Alfred watched him for a quiet moment, basket hanging from one arm. “I always enjoyed caramels as a child. I’m perfectly happy to purchase you something, Master Jason.” 

“That’s ok,” he shook his head again, taking a step back from the shelves. He felt nauseous anyway. None of it sounded good, lemondrops or otherwise.

“Are you certain?” Alfred pressed, taking a few more steps into the aisle until he stood next to him. “Master Bruce would be happy to share something with you, I’m quite sure. He has more of a sweet tooth than he’ll admit to.”

“No,” Jason said a little more forcefully, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I _said_ I don’t want anything.” 

“Alright,” Alfred offered, voice light and placating, but making no move to head toward the registers. Instead, he considered the shelves one more time with a dubious look and then reached for the glass jar Jason had just been holding. 

And Jason watched, spine stiff and stomach doing flips, as he picked it up. 

“I’ve always been partial to lemondrops as well,” he said offhandedly. “They are a classic, really.” 

“No, they’re not.” Jason bit out, angry and upset at someone who wasn’t even there. But all he could think about was his mom not getting her meds and the taste of sugar in his mouth.

“My boy,” Alfred said, raising an eyebrow, “Is everything alright?”

Jason swallowed, feeling his face warm, his breathing pick up. He couldn’t explain it. “You don’t want those,” he insisted, resisting the urge to just reach out and pull them out of the shopping basket.

“I’m afraid I rather do,” the butler said back, sounding somewhere between amused and concerned, eyebrows drawing together.

“No you _don’t_.” He could tell his voice was too loud, nearly echoing off tile floors and high ceilings, but his breath was coming short and panicked and Alfred took an aborted step toward him as Jason mirrored him in the other direction, backing away. 

“It’s only candy, Lad,” he spoke in a lowered voice, seeming confused, gripping the basket handles tightly.

“Don’t fucking lie!” Jason shouted back, stomach twisting up into his throat at Alfred’s shocked expression.

“ _Master Jason,_ ” he rushed out in a hissed breath, scandalized, while Jason felt shame and anger and _guilt_ and everything else winding up around his insides; and he didn’t know what to say, or how to backpedal or what to do because that fucking candy was still in the basket but now he’d _cussed_ at _Alfred_. And he seemed actually mad, more than Jason had seen him get up to that point and before Alfred could calm his expression or say anything else Jason did what every nerve in his body was screaming at him to do and he _fled_. 

“Master Jason- _Master Jason!”_ Alfred called after him, but he didn’t pause, or slow down. Reflex was humming through him and he had to get out, get away from there, away from Alfred and his shock and offense. Away from old memories burning through his veins, from a dad who pretended to care but didn’t give a shit about anybody but himself, and a mom who lied and said everything was gonna be ok when it _wasn’t._

He didn’t know where he was going when he rushed through the open doors, just that he was now standing in the middle of the parking lot, unsure if Alfred had followed him or not. He started walking, not intending to go far exactly, just...he couldn’t face Alfred right then, remembering the jar of candy where it had sat under his bed for three months without him ever touching another piece. 

He remembered that Willis got sent to jail around then, and Jason had brought the jar to school and tried to sell it to the other kids to help his mom scrounge up bail money even though he was happy to be rid of him. But, he knew without him, his mom wouldn’t be able to make rent on her own. Jason fucking hated him but they still _needed_ him. 

He jammed his hands in his pockets, half stomping across the pavement. There was an elementary school down the road he remembered driving by, just a couple blocks away, closed today just like his. Jason headed there, toward the empty playground. 

Of course, on his way, the cell phone in his pocket, the same stupid-expensive one that Bruce bought him four months ago, started to ring. He groaned to himself, ignoring it for three chimes before he finally pulled it out to see Alfred’s name across the screen, along with a picture of the man baking in the Manor kitchens, a wooden spoon in one hand as he raised a narrow eyebrow at the camera. Alfred had let him help portion out cookie dough that day, and lick the spoon when they were done. 

Jason swallowed roughly, throat closing up at the idea of answering and stuffed it back in his pocket, shoulders hunched as he picked up his pace toward the swings. 

He felt relief and panic right along with it as soon as it stopped ringing, dread filling him at how mad Alfred was gonna be. He was so stupid. 

Why did he get so _upset?_ It was stupid friggin’ _candy_ and Jason was - he didn’t even know how much it cost. He hadn’t even _looked,_ he just knew it would be expensive, just as much as it had been when he was eight. Probably more, with how many years had gone by. But Alfred didn’t _know_ that. It wasn’t his fault and Jason had snapped and yelled about it anyway. 

He slumped down in the first swing he came to, wrapping his hands tightly around the chains, and shutting his eyes. 

It was so long ago, it didn’t matter. Jason was gonna ruin everything with shit like this. If he couldn’t get over himself they weren’t gonna put up with it forever and Alfred hadn’t even _done_ anything. What were they gonna think? 

He wished he could go back in time and just stay with Alfred in the store. The longer he sat there, as the anger faded, the more he wished it. First there was shame, then dread at the thought of having to slink back, apologize, and take whatever they dished out.

He would deserve it, at least, whatever it was. 

It felt like a long time went by, though it probably wasn’t, when his phone rang again. The sound made him jump, rattling the chains on the swing. 

Sluggishly, he pulled it out again, staring at the screen as anxiety tightened up his throat and made his stomach swoop. He nearly ignored it for the second time, the dread coming stronger and stronger. 

It was _Bruce_ , not Alfred. 

Jason didn’t want to talk to him. Didn’t want to be asked questions, didn’t want to be reamed out no matter how much he deserved it for swearing at Alfred of all people. Stupid, snappy, rude behavior toward the person who was basically Bruce’s _dad_. 

Alfred must have called him, maybe he was as tired of Jason as Jason was of himself.

But letting it go to voicemail — that would just be worse, and just as it rang for the fourth time, he pressed the little green button in the center of the screen and held the phone up to his ear. He didn’t say anything, nerves keeping him quiet up until Bruce spoke.

_“Jason? Are you there?”_

“...Yeah,” he said, voice smaller than he intended. Out of the store and calmed down, his pulse had slowed, but the heat in his face hadn’t faded one bit.

_“Are you alright?”_ Bruce asked, voice soft.

Jason blinked, staring out at playground equipment, so caught off guard by the question that he didn’t say anything. He was expecting to be asked where he was, at the very least, if not yelled at right at the start. Of course his lack of response didn’t go unnoticed and Bruce repeated himself, a little more urgently, _“Jason, are you alright?”_

“I’m fine,” he managed back, swallowing hard as his eyes continued to drift over the rest of the playground, remembering when he used to be in elementary school. Theirs hadn’t been this big, or this nice, but even at his poor as shit school they still had monkey bars and swings, a teeter totter, some slides...an old jungle gym. 

_“Alfred said you were upset,”_ Bruce’s voice pulled him back to the present and he squirmed where he sat, scrubbing a hand over his eyes and slouching in the swing. 

“I’m sorry I yelled at him- I shouldn’t’ve-“ he rushed out, shame like stones in the pit of his stomach. 

_“I know, Jay,”_ Bruce said quietly back. _“He just wants to make sure you’re alright. Can you tell me where you are?”_

Jason took a breath, squeezing his eyes shut before he looked down the road toward the store, trying to see if he could spot Alfred outside or not. It was too far to tell and he leaned against the chains and said, “I’m not far. I didn’t...I wasn’t running away or anything.” _Unless you’d prefer that_ , Jason kept to himself. 

_“That’s good, can you tell me where you are though? So I can come get you?”_

“What?” Jason startled, suddenly looking around in all directions like he might catch him coming. “You don’t need- he didnt need to call you, I can go back-'' He couldn’t quite control his rising pitch, suddenly anxious. Jason had never really been afraid of Alfred hitting or yelling and he knew Bruce hadn’t ever before but Alfred had called him, and he hadn’t don’t that before either. Probably to tell him how badly behaved Jason had been and to come get him so Alfred didn’t have to deal with him. 

“You don’t need to come get me,” Jason said, scuffing his feet in the playground bark. 

_“Well,”_ Bruce started, voice hesitant, _“it’s a little late for that since I’m already here.”_

“What?” Jason was breathless with nerves, turning and looking around, still clutching the swing’s chain in one hand.

_“Alfred called me when you ran out of the store, he said he didn’t know where you’d gone. I wasn’t far so I drove down.”_

Jason’s stomach soured even more. He was gonna be in so much trouble. Bruce had to leave work and come down here to get him? After he _swore at Alfred?_

_“So can you tell me where you are?”_ He prompted for the third time, voice no less calm than before.

Jason was silent, words blocking up his throat in his haste to explain. Except that there wasn’t anything to explain and the only thing that came out when he opened his mouth was a pathetic, “Are you mad?” 

He knew it was a dumb question. Of course Bruce was angry and whether he said so or not didn’t really matter. When he was little, Willis had told him that to get him out from hiding under his bed before.

_“Come out from under there, I’m not mad, I promise.”_

He’d sounded calm too. 

It only worked once.

On the other end of the phone, Bruce didn’t say anything for a long time until he offered a quiet, _“No, I’m not angry.”_

Jason knew he was being stupid, because even if Bruce was lying and he was gonna beat the snot out of him for this, or scream until his face went blue, or lock him in his room for a couple days or _whatever_ , hiding wasn’t going to _help_. But when Jason didn’t say anything, Bruce went on, voice just as quiet as before. _“Alfred is a little upset, but only because he knows he upset_ you, _and he isn’t sure why.”_

The question was implied, but Jason couldn’t answer it, because _he_ didn’t even really know why. Just that he was a basket case, apparently.

“It wasn’t his fault,” Jason said after a while, feeling more and more sorry with every passing minute. Alfred was just trying to be _nice_ and Jason had yelled at him. His lungs felt like they were filling with sand, breath straining. It was just like something Willis would have done before, just because he was in a bad mood. Shame prickled over his skin, hot and sharp. 

So much for being better than him.

He should go back and apologize. He’d ruined Alfred’s errand day and he thought, miserably, Alfred would never invite him along again. Not that he even deserved to go.

_“Jay...”_ Bruce said after another long pause, _“will you please tell me where you are?”_

He held his breath for a moment, heart pounding harder and louder in his ears before he finally admitted, “I’m at the playground,” in a rush of breath.

He could hear Bruce inhale deeply on the other end but didn’t know what it meant and clutched at the swing a little tighter. _“Ok, thank you, I’ll meet you over there.”_

“You don’t have t-“

_“I know, but I’m going to.”_

He didn’t sound angry, but Jason still didn’t trust it entirely. _“I’ll be there in just a minute,”_ he finished. But before he could hang up Jason interjected.

“Will you-“ he stopped though, and there was a stretched pause before Bruce prompted him.

_“Will I?”_

“I-I’ll tell him myself, later, but, will you tell Alfred I’m sorry?” It was a pathetic request, like asking for a stay of execution but Jason’s chest still throbbed with guilt.

_“I’ll tell him,”_ Bruce replied, not sounding frustrated or anything else. _“I’ll see you in a minute.”_

Jason hung up, stuffing the phone back in his pocket, both hands wrapping around the chains, waiting. 

It wasn’t long before he could see Bruce walking up in the distance, from the direction of the store. Strikingly large figure that he was, he’d be hard to miss even if Jason hadn’t been looking. He was wearing a suit but his jacket was off, draped over one shoulder with a finger hooked under the collar and his sleeves rolled up. When he spotted Jason his shoulders dropped, just a little. 

He appeared to be in no hurry, walking slowly, but Jason didn’t watch him approach, casting his gaze away and feeling stupidly pathetic. He didn’t want to see the resigned judgement on his face for the street kid who was always getting himself in trouble; starting fights and being nasty, just like everyone expected.

He heard more than saw Bruce sit in the neighboring swing, nothing more than a passing shadow and chains jingling softly at the shift in weight. Neither of them said anything for a long time though.

Jason knew what he was doing. Just keeping quiet until he stewed enough to say what he was thinking, well, yeah right. Bruce wasn’t having any luck there. It might have worked with Dick but not here. Jason wasn’t about to make things worse by saying the wrong thing unprompted.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, awkwardness stretching into painful, Bruce spoke, “Jaylad...can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Jason snorted, earning him a pinched look from Bruce when he finally glanced over.

“Jason...” he said again, looking strained, though what the cause was Jason couldn’t really say. “I’m not angry,” he eventually murmured, staring at the side of Jason’s face like he could read it if he concentrated hard enough. 

“You said that already.” Jason hunched his shoulders in, still not looking over but paying very close attention to the shape of him, looming in his peripheral vision, while Jason clutched the chains on his swing in a white knuckle grip. 

Bruce shifted forward and Jason flinched — _very_ obviously. He felt his neck and face flame bright red when Bruce froze in place. “I did,” he said slowly, “but I think you might be having a hard time believing me right now.”

If Jason could flush any darker he probably would but it didn’t seem possible. He didn’t say anything else, he didn’t know what Bruce expected him to say to _that_. But when he didn’t respond the chains on the swing rattled again and Jason glanced up to see Bruce pushing himself to his feet. Jason didn’t move, chain digging into his palms while he watched him take a step and kneel on the ground in front of him, one knee right on the ground. 

All Jason could think was how dirty he was getting his suit. 

“Alfred told me what happened,” he said, now looking just slightly up at Jason, “I just want to know what it is that upset you.”

Jason shrugged, avoiding his eyes and instead, staring at his one bent up knee and the shiny spot on his black leather shoe. 

“Jay...” He let out a heavy breath, sounding tired, and Jason swallowed against his frustration.

“I don’t know!” he snapped, “I don’t-“ and he couldn’t explain it, couldn’t express it when he saw the old memory in the back of his mind. It felt so meaningless here in front of a man with more money that Jason could even comprehend. But he had to give some kind of explanation.

He wracked his brain for anything that might make sense, anything better than, _that fucking candy ruined my life_. He worried his lip between his teeth, ignoring the twist in his stomach when he finally said, “He lied,” hating how tight his voice sounded. 

Bruce watched him carefully for a moment, eyes never leaving his face before he asked, “What did he lie about?”

Jason heaved a breath, eyes flicking up and back down. “He didn’t want the stupid candy. He just said he did, because he thought I wanted it.” It sounded so dumb coming out his mouth. Ridiculous even. Alfred was trying to do something nice and Jason had freaked out. 

Bruce’s expression didn’t change, still staring. 

When he spoke, his voice was carefully even, “Are you upset because you think he lied, or because you didn’t want him to spend the money?” 

Jason didn’t know how to answer. His already heated face felt like it might burst into flames and he looked down, letting go of the chain for the first time to swipe the backs of his knuckles across one eye, fingers throbbing at the release before he wrapped his hand back around it, gripping just as tight as before. Swallowing roughly, he tried to speak, “That’s not-“

But he stopped there, because he didn’t — he didn’t know how to defend himself without telling Bruce the whole stupid story and he couldn’t just talk about that stuff with Bruce, or _anyone_. And anyway, Jason had screwed up, regardless of the reason. That didn’t mean he got to excuse it.

Instead, he shut his eyes and shook his head.

Bruce let out a very quiet breath and when Jason opened his eyes again he was frowning, big surprise. “Jason...” he began, clearly hesitant, “I know it’s...maybe uncomfortable for you, to...” 

He exhaled slowly, letting the words hang before he closed his mouth, looking out across the playground for a moment, one hand resting on his knee, the other still hooked in the collar of his jacket. 

“I don’t want...” He shook his head, mouth twisting in frustration, before he looked back at him. Whether the frustration was at Jason or himself he couldn’t tell. 

“I know it will take time, and that...living with me is very different from what you were used to, before.”

Jason huffed a quiet scoff before he could stop himself, hunching his shoulders at Bruce’s pressed flat mouth. But, talk about the understatement of the century. 

But Bruce just frowned a little deeper. “I don’t expect you to adjust immediately, but you do not need to worry about the cost of things anymore.”

Jason resisted rolling his eyes but only barely, the burning edge of frustration throbbing deep in his stomach that he just couldn’t express. Because Bruce didn’t _get it._ And he never would, even if Jason could explain it. They were too different, they might as well be from different _planets_ whether Jason was living on Bruce’s now or not.

“No one is angry with you, Jay,” Bruce repeated for the second time, tone insistent. “We just want you to feel welcome with us, so we want you to have things you like. There’s no...”

And there was that twinge of shame again, because Jason knew that’s all it was. Just Alfred trying to get him something he liked when all Jason could think about was the first time he’d seen that same glass jar. 

“There are no strings attached, Jay...” Bruce finally offered, quietly, and Jason knew that. He did. Most of the time. 

It wasn’t like Jason had never met nice people before. Just because all his neighbors were poor didn’t mean they didn’t look out for each other. He thought sometimes they looked out for each other a lot _more_ than other people, when he saw the way rich folks treated each other.

Jason had grown up with a lot of nice people. They’d drop off leftovers when they had enough, or one time the family down the hall had bought Jason a winter jacket at the secondhand store just ‘cause they said it was on a good sale, and they knew he needed one. Lots of people used to trade around bags of clothes their kids had grown out of throughout the building.

It wasn’t until he was on the streets that it was really every man for himself. 

So it wasn’t like it was a totally foreign concept, that somebody might just be kind, like Bruce. But there was a big difference between those things and _taking in a kid._

But there were only two real reasons a rich, single guy would take in a street kid with nothing. Bruce had never even hinted at being interested in the _first_ way, and the only other explanation was that he really did just want to help. 

So yeah, Jason knew that, and he liked Bruce and being around him and getting to fight at Batman’s side. Everything he’d seen of him so far said he was exactly what he’d presented himself to be; just someone who wanted to help. But even through all of it, there were moments when it was still hard to have faith in that. 

“I know,” Jason said, harsher than he meant to, telling himself to just _believe it_ already. He knew it wasn’t fair to Bruce, but he didn’t know what he was supposed to do to fix it.

“Alright,” he said back, voice intentionally light, frown softening. He opened his mouth like he might continue but closed it after a moment, lips pressing thin. 

He really didn’t seem mad, through their whole conversation and Jason told himself, _duh, you idiot, he’s not like that,_ guilt mingling with a slow-seeping relief. Biting his lip when Bruce remained silent, he finally asked, “Can we go home?” feeling drained and disheartened. “I wanna talk to Alfred,” he admitted quietly.

Bruce sighed, giving Jason a look he couldn’t decipher.

“Ok,” he said with a short nod, “let’s go home.”

He stood up slowly and held an arm out for Jason, like he was waiting for him. Jason pushed himself up but he didn’t know what the outstretched arm meant and nerves kept him just out of reach as they began to head slowly back toward the sidewalk. 

Bruce didn’t say anything about it, just tucked his hand back in his pocket. Without the extended hand Jason slowly migrated closer, until he was just at his elbow. Bruce didn’t try to touch him again, and Jason knew it was his own fault even while disappointment sunk through his chest. It wasn’t like he deserved it anyway and why would Bruce even think he wanted it when he shrunk away every time?

But then, when they reached the road and were walking back toward the store, Bruce nudged him, very gently, with his elbow. “Do you want to keep reading The Two Towers tonight? After dinner? It’s been almost a week, I don’t want you to forget what’s happening.” 

Jason shot him a look, eyes squinting up while his shoulders slowly went loose at the casual way he asked, like everything was fine. “I wouldn’t forget,” he griped, “but yeah, sure. I wanna know what happens next.” 

Sometimes he really wished he could know what happened next in his _own_ life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: flashback like scene involving drunken behavior and angry shouting as well as vaguely intimidating posture and manipulative behavior. (To be clear this is Willis, and Jason is small in this scene) Allusions to serious illness of a parent and a lot of high anxiety, though I wouldn't say it crosses into panic attack territory.
> 
> ____
> 
> We're almost to more satisfying conversations, I promise<3


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings in end notes!!

It was embarrassing, that Bruce seemed so keenly aware of Jason’s _issues_ sometimes. 

Especially when Jason avoided talking about them at all costs. He figured if he could ignore them long enough they’d...well, not go away exactly, but he’d at least get better at ignoring them. Except that Bruce was walking tiptoe around him ever since the _incident_ at the grocery store. 

Jason was indifferent about it, even if it was annoying. He certainly had no desire to bring it up himself. But Bruce sitting him down just to tell him that there was a gala coming up, and he would need to wear a tux, was pushing it. Like they thought he’d throw a fit or something. 

“What’s the big deal? I already have a suit,” Jason griped, crossing his arms and leaning back on the couch in Bruce’s study. 

Bruce stood in front of his desk to the side, legs crossed and leaned against it with his hands propped on the edge. “Yes,” he agreed slowly, “but this is a black tie event. A tux and a suit are different. You need both.” 

Jason blinked at him for a moment, digesting that, before he burst _“Why?”_

Bruce pursed his lips, tapping his fingers against the edge of the desk before he attempted an answer. “Well, it has to do with the materials they’re made of, and the cut of the-“

“Oh my _god_.” Jason slid down in his seat, staring at the ceiling in disbelief. “You’re serious. I need, not just one fancy suit that costs more than it could ever be worth, but _two_. Your rich friends actually care about this shit?”

Bruce was quiet until Jason finally turned his head, hair pulling against the leather of the couch. 

“My friends don’t. But the public expects certain things, yes.” 

In other words, this was a secret identity thing and there would be no getting out of it. Didn’t mean he couldn’t try. 

“Can’t I just wear the suit? I’m the street kid, people will just think I’m the uncultured one or something.”

Bruce looked pained for a moment, mouth and eyebrows turning town at the sides. “But you aren’t, and I would rather they didn’t.” 

Jason huffed and slid further down in his seat, twisting his gaze back to the ceiling and gripping his arms tight in both hands. It was this kind of nonsensical bullshit that drove him absolutely up the wall with these rich idiots. Their fancy clothes and expensive jewelry and their stupid ass parties with _hors devours,_ and _canapés_. It was all just a pissing contest — who cared less about throwing away their money because there was plenty more where that came from. It was disgusting.

They weren’t _all_ like that, Jason knew, even if it felt like it. Bruce was certainly more than that. And so was Alfred, and _Batman_ was a _whole_ lot more than that. _He_ was important to a lot of people. And...and so was Bruce Wayne if Jason was being honest. Practically every shelter in the city had his name stamped on it, and most of these gala’s were to raise money for something like that anyway. If these people wanted to pour their money out, at least some of it might end up in the right place.

“How much would a tux be?” 

“Jason...” Bruce sounded disappointed, and Jason finally righted himself, scooting up in his seat to glare right at him. 

“What?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

_“Why not?”_

Bruce stared at him, ankles still crossed, leaning back against the desk, but face serious. “Because it is not your job to count costs anymore.”

Jason’s throat tightened up inexplicably, frustration bubbling up in his chest. Before he could work out a response though, Bruce continued, “But, me asking you in here was not to talk you into getting a tux, Jay. It was to ask you a question.” 

The statement caught him off guard, sending him racking his brain for what Bruce could possibly think was important enough to bring up so formally like this. He took a slow breath and uncrossed his arms, trying not to get upset at what he knew was a small thing to Bruce anyway. “Ok, what is it?” he asked, managing, at least, to not sound angry.

Bruce watched him for a moment, as if gauging his true mood. “You will need a tux, but I understand if it makes you uncomfortable to get a new one. We happen to still have a couple that Dick grew out of a few years ago. It’s unlikely that any of them will truly fit you, but we could see what’s the closest and get it altered, if you’re alright with that.” 

Jason leaned back slowly, until he was pressed against the back of the couch, and considered it. It would still be some hoity-toity outfit that he didn’t need...but at least it wouldn’t be as much.

“I spoke to Dick about it,” Bruce added when Jason didn’t respond right away. “He’s happy to give them up, and it would be less waste, if nothing else.” 

“Yeah,” Jason sighed, offering a small shrug after a while. “I guess I could do that.” 

Bruce nodded, slowly folding his arms over his chest. “Ok...” He sounded hesitant though, when he spoke, and Jason eyed him warily.

“I don’t want you to think that you _have_ to take one of Dick’s old suits. We could...get you your own, if you preferred.”

Jason stared for a moment, confused more than anything. “Why would I want that?”

Bruce was quiet, like he always got when he wasn’t sure what to say, and just as it was beginning to make Jason nervous he shook his head. “Never mind, if you’re happier with it this way, then that’s what we’ll do.” 

*

And so, that’s what they did. Jason spent an annoying afternoon trying on Dick’s old tuxes, which there were _three_ of, and they set out to Giovanni’s that weekend. 

Initially, when Jason had gone there to get his first suit, for his first big party as a Wayne, he’d been wary of Giovanni. His shop was known throughout the city, the good and the not-so-good parts alike. He’d set up shop in a middle class neighborhood some fifty years ago, after coming over from Italy. It became known pretty quickly that if you wanted something good, you went to Giovanni.

But here he was, fifty years later in the same neighborhood, no longer as nice as it used to be. There’d been rumors at times that he had an in with the mob, that he was hiding money for them and that’s why he didn’t pick up and move when the area went downhill, but Bruce insisted that wasn’t the case. 

_“How do you know?” Jason asked, on their way there for the first time._

_“Because I have known Giovanni since I was a boy. And_ Batman _knows even more than that.” Bruce glanced over at him for just a moment, eyes back on the road a split second later. “He donates suits to The Wayne Foundation, you know.”_

_“What good are_ suits _doing anybody?” Jason scowled at the passenger side window as Bruce huffed an amused breath._

_“_ Suits _are helping people look professional for job interviews, so they make a good impression and are more likely to be hired.”_

_“Oh...” That at least, was kind of cool._

_“He’s just a tailor, Jay.”_

Jason wasn’t so sure, but he had no good reason not to at least give it a chance. He would have rather just gone to Macy’s or something but Bruce insisted on _supporting local businesses_ , and that he had a _relationship_ with Giovanni, and Jason couldn’t really argue with that. He figured a suit was expensive no matter where you got it. 

Turned out, Giovanni was actually kind of fun. He was tall and skinny as a matchstick with gray hair that stuck out in all directions and a thick mustache. Mostly though, he ribbed Bruce to high heaven and he laughed easy and loud, joking around with Jason like he actually enjoyed having him there.

This time was no different.

“You know,” the old man said, kneeling at his ankles with a pin sticking out of his teeth, “you should come around here more often, your dad needs to update his style.” 

Jason snorted, shaking his head if only to cover for the reddening of his face. People didn’t usually call Bruce his dad. Pretty much nobody, actually. It was...weird. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but Jason didn’t totally mind it. He glanced at Bruce, wondering if he might disagree, but he just stood there, off to the side looking exasperated.

“Maybe we’d come by more often if your shop wasn’t so stuffy,” Jason shot back, feeling emboldened. 

Giovanni laughed, shaking his head as he pulled the pin from his mouth and carefully tucked the cuff of his pant leg up.

“Jay,” Bruce said, just a hint of warning in his tone that had him looking back over. He had his arms crossed, jacket draped over his hands, and was giving him the _look_. The one every child was familiar with that said, _‘Don’t even think about it.’_

“What?” Jason asked, going to cross his arms and then thinking better of it, sleeves pinned to high heaven. 

“You know what. Don’t be rude.”

Jason sniffed, standing tall, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Jason,” his tone in return was unimpressed.

“What?” Jason complained, tossing his head back dramatically. There was no one else in the store and it felt easier somehow, to poke Bruce’s buttons. “Must be my street rat sensibilities, you money folk are so _sensitive_.”

Giovanni let out a bark of laughter that nearly turned into a cough. “This one’s almost worse than the last,” he said, giving Bruce a wide-amused smile. 

“Dick was much louder, I think.” Bruce observed lightly in return. 

“Oh yes,” the old man agreed, nodding as he tucked in the final pin and shuffled over to his other foot. Jason consciously avoided moving, it was harder to stand so still than he thought it would be. “But this one’s got _attitude_.”

Jason snorted but Bruce just hummed in consideration, shifting his weight to his other foot, before he said, “Dick had plenty of attitude, he was just friendlier with strangers.”

Giovanni chuckled again when Jason risked twisting his upper half around to look directly at Bruce. “Hey, I’m plenty friendly, this is me being friendly, we’re bantering” 

He gestured between himself and Giovanni, still kneeling on the floor.

“Jay,” Bruce’s mouth twitched as he closed his eyes briefly and Jason grinned, knowing he’d hit the mark. Bruce was so stony faced all the time, it was like a victory to make him laugh. 

“As long as you don’t _banter_ with the wrong person. Then it’s called being rude.” 

He opened his mouth to protest but Bruce cut him off, “Don’t try to pretend you don’t know it, either.”

Jason clapped his mouth shut and glared while Giovanni gave a wheezy huff of laughter.

“Ah, don’t worry,” the old man said, glancing up as he fiddled with the cuff of Jason’s pant leg, trying to get it to fold right. “You’re smarter than 80% of those _money folk_ anyway. I’m sure you could get away with it without them ever realizing.” 

“See?” Jason laughed out, motioning to the man again. The way he said ‘money folk’ in an Italian accent cracked him up. 

“Don’t give him any ideas, Giovanni.” Bruce complained, frowning but still sounding amused.

“Oh,” he said, running his hands briskly down Jason’s pant leg from the knee down before beginning the climb to his feet, “I’m sure he’s already full of them.” One hand braced on his thigh he glanced up, giving Jason a wink. 

Jason choked on a snigger in return. Yeah, Giovanni wasn’t so bad.

Bruce sighed but only shook his head as Giovanni stepped back, slowly stretching his old spine straight. He gestured to Jason’s right arm and had him stretch it out again, double checking the length of the sleeve, followed by the other. 

“Alright, I think you’re all set. You can get out of that stuffy suit now.” He nodded to himself, moving away a few steps. 

Jason hopped off the little elevated box to the floor, heading back to the dressing room where his street clothes were folded in a stack on a wooden chair, tucked into the corner. He could hear Bruce and the old man chatting while he changed, slowly and carefully, to avoid poking himself on pins or accidentally pulling some out. 

Hanging the suit pants and jacket on the provided rack, so whoever worked on it could grab it later, Jason threw on his jeans, t-shirt, and oversized sweatshirt. It was his old red one, the one he’d been wearing the same night Batman had caught him robbing the tires off the Batmobile. 

They’d tried to get rid of it initially, when Jason had first moved in, but he had panicked a bit at the thought of losing one of his warmer pieces of clothing. Both Bruce and Alfred had explained he had other, warmer things now, and not to worry so much, but those things hadn’t felt like _his._

So — they’d compromised.

Alfred had patched the pocket on the front, as well as repaired the bottom hem and replaced the cuffs on the sleeves. Not to mention spent who-knows-how-long removing stains. Just because he wanted to keep it.

At first Jason hadn’t believed him when he said he would fix it. He’d snuck down to the main laundry room in the middle of the night to see if he could steal it back only to find it laid out on a large ironing board with stain removers and multiple fabric patches, like he’d been trying to find a good match. 

It was months later now, and Jason was less afraid of losing the things he’d had from before, but...it was sort of his favorite now, for other reasons. 

He fiddled with the seam inside the pocket, where the patch overlapped the original fabric, as he slipped his sneakers back on and pulled the curtain back on the dressing room.

Upon exiting, he found Giovanni holding out a selection of ties to Bruce and resisted the urge to sigh. He was already hungry, but this had ended up being pretty painless despite his initial concerns, so he could let Bruce play the role of _Eccentric Playboy Billionaire: Adopter of Orphans_ for a little while if he needed to keep up the show. 

The shop was kind of cool inside at least. Old timey and decorated like Jason imagined vintage shops in England or something. It smelled like wood, leather and something earthy that Jason couldn’t pin down, like old books. 

There were dress shoes stacked on a wooden counter on one side, a bunch of tools and things Jason didn’t recognize hanging on the wall behind it. Across from there stood the cash register, sitting on a clear glass counter above a case of jewelry that stretched down the wall toward the door. It was the fancy kind that didn’t look all that different from the costume jewelry the working girls on his block used to wear, but he knew it would be a hundred times the price, if he looked.

There was a set off to the right inside the case, earrings, a necklace and a bracelet, all with dark red stones. Jason paused at the counter, staring down at them.

His mom had always loved rubies. She told him when she was a girl, she’d had real ones. Just a pair of earrings, with small stones. 

She’d had to sell them before Jason was born, though. 

He took a deep breath, shaking the thought as he wandered down and past the jewelry, closer to the door. There was a little stack of shelves lining the wall full of small glass bottles in varying shades; dark to light, soft to clear to solid, some shiny, others matte, little caps over spray nozzles at their tops.

Jason didn’t understand plenty of things about the rich but he figured wanting to smell nice was pretty universal. 

There were narrow white cards in a cup to the side to test them on and he picked one up for a moment, only to drop it back in, unused. Bruce had about a thousand bottles of cologne in his bathroom, though Jason didn’t think he paid much attention to what they were, or if he even picked them out himself. Jason wondered if some of them came from here, if he’d recognize any of the bottles. 

Crouching down and looking at the bottom shelf for a moment, he inspected them. Most were plain-square bottles in varying shades of gray, dark green and blue, short and wide vs tall and skinny. You’d never guess they were $60 a pop or more. He picked one up, removing the cap to sniff the nozzle and scrunching his face up before he put it back. _Gross_.

Ok, that one he definitely didn’t understand. But there was no accounting for taste and all that.

He moved to the next shelf up, being careful not to touch the glass of it and get fingerprints everywhere. The bottles looked fancier suddenly, not as square or dark in color, one of them was a dusty-pastel yellow. Women’s perfume then. What the color and shape of the bottle had to do with men and women, he had zero idea. Come to think of it, what different smells had to do with it made equally little sense, but it seemed to be a pattern. 

Jason could admit he tended to like the women’s scents better anyway, when he picked up the first bottle in the line and sniffed before putting it back down. Only, when his eyes drew to the right, and onto the next few bottles, he stopped. Because he did recognize one of them. But not from Bruce’s collection.

From his mom’s.

He swallowed, trying to bring up a laugh at the thought. A collection was a stretch. It was just the one bottle. The only nice thing Willis had ever bought her; when he was drunk off his ass and half looking for a fight.

Jason reached up, touching the silver cap over the nozzle with just the tips of his fingers, ghosting over the edge like it might not be real.

She used to wear it everyday.

Jason remembered because he’d watch her get ready in the morning before she walked him to school on her good days and she’d always spray it on just before they left. He’d hated it at first, because it was expensive, and stupid, and they didn’t need it. She’d been mad when Willis first got it for her, said she was gonna try to take it back, he didn’t know why she even kept it.

_“Because Jay, it’s nice. And I like it. And it’ll last for years. So maybe it was expensive,” she shrugged, “and maybe it wasn’t a smart thing to do, but it was thoughtful and sometimes having things you enjoy is worth a little stupidity, Kiddo.”_

Jason wasn’t so sure. Even less so about how _thoughtful_ it was. He hated how she always came around to his side in the end. But he liked the smell, like citrus and honey. It was light and airy; she used to say it smelled happy.

_“Like you,” he said to her, still eight years old, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. She stopped where she was, blinking with a shocked sort of smile reflected in the mirror. Setting the bottle back on the counter, she turned to him and leaned down, tugging the sleeve of his shirt until he stepped closer. Her arms came up to wrap around him and he tucked his face in the crook of her neck, where he could breathe it in._

_“God,” she laughed, “You’re too cute, nobody’s even gonna believe me when I tell ‘em you said that.”_

Jason carefully, very gently, picked up the bottle, just staring at the glass.

When she was really sick, she sometimes wouldn’t get out of bed all day, and then...and then for a while she’d started having good days again. It was because of the drugs, of course, though Jason hadn’t realized that at first. But she’d put it on then, when she was feeling better.

If Jason saw her pick the bottle up, it meant it would be a good day.

He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he went to bring it to his nose, removing the little cap and sniffing carefully at the top. It was just a hint, barely enough to recognize it, but Jason did.

The honey and the lime, a little bit of lavender, maybe. He sucked in a shaky breath as deja vu hit him like a kick to the stomach. Pulling it back from his face, Jason stared at the simple frosted pink of the glass and the graceful S curve in the figure of the bottle.

He paused for a minute, forcing himself to pull back into the room and listen. Bruce and Giovanni were still chatting amiably somewhere in the shop. It felt far away from him now. 

Moving his right hand, he held a finger over the nozzle, the sound of their conversation fading to the background as he pressed down with shaky fingers. He flinched when the spray came out, filling the air with the light, delicate scent that reminded Jason of walks to school when he was small, of standing in the kitchen helping with dinner, of his mom’s hands running through his hair, and her singing when he couldn’t sleep. 

Jason swallowed painfully against a sudden lump in his throat, tears pressing at the backs of his eyes as he blinked rapidly, trying to keep them at bay. His grip on the bottle was so tight that the hard edges of it dug into his palm, just enough to wake him up some. Make him glance around and remember he was still standing in a public place; in a store, with Bruce, while he picked out ties. 

They would leave soon.

The thought shot a spike of sudden panic through him. He didn’t - he couldn’t - he didn’t wanna leave her- _it_.

He didn’t wanna leave it there.

Jason tilted the bottle, carefully, looking for a little press on sticker with a hand written number that was stuck to the bottom of all the bottles here.

_$75.00_

Jason took a short step back from the shelf, a pang of deep longing in his chest at war with a stinging sense of reality. 

_Seventy five dollars_ , Jesus. Jason wondered if his dad had spent that much on it all that time ago. He could barely believe it if he had. Maybe it had been less then, it was almost five years ago that he’d bought it, after all.

His palms were sweating, slick against the glass bottle.

Jason could _ask_ at least. He...Bruce said he could always ask.

Except that it was a bottle of _perfume_. Of _women’s perfume_ from a fancy dress shop and Jason was a twelve year old boy. Bruce would ask him why he wanted it and - 

He swallowed. What would he even say? _He liked the smell?_ The thought of telling the truth was -- his throat closed up at the very idea.

And then there was _Giovanni_ there, and it was _so expensive._ It wasn’t like Jason would get any real use out of it either, he wasn’t gonna be wearing it to the next gala. It would be weird, if he asked and...

And Jason knew his mom was right, sort of, back then. Sometimes it was worth being stupid to have something you wanted but not like _she had._ Not like Willis had, wasting money his mom needed for medication they already couldn’t afford.

Bruce kept saying he didn’t need to worry about that stuff anymore but it wasn’t like he could just _stop_. Bruce didn’t worry about money either. He _never_ thought about it and it wasn’t _fair_.

He knew Bruce was rich. He saw his house, he saw his cars, and the cave, and his computers, and equipment, and his expensive clothes and parties. He knew he had more than enough for all the stupid things Jason wanted but he already spent so much all the time. He couldn’t stop the tiny niggling fear that it couldn’t last forever. Even Bruce’s wealth could run out and then where would Batman be?

Where would _Alfred_ be? What happened to the rich, playboy billionaire when he wasn’t rich anymore? It wasn’t like he could keep _staff_. Jason knew how to be poor but _they_ didn’t, and what would happen to him even, if Bruce didn’t have enough to be willy-nilly adopting orphans around every turn?

In the beginning, when Jason was on the streets, whatever amount of money he came into he would spend on the very next thing he needed. But he’d quickly figured out that he’d end up exactly where he started when he did things like that. 

So whatever he could steal he did, even when he had a stash of cash hidden under the loose brick behind the old tire factory. Maybe it made him a thief but there were other things you couldn’t steal, like your own damn _safety._ But you could pay off the gangs to leave you alone, if you couldn’t manage to avoid them. You could pay off the cop who wanted to turn you into social services, and you could pay to use the showers at the YMCA since they put in those stupid cameras at the back and front entrances. 

He saved money for the things he couldn’t get by stealing and for everything else he only took what he needed.

Jason knew he didn’t need this, when he looked down at the bottle still in his hands, now resting against his stomach. He could feel the edges pressing through the fabric of his sweatshirt. He didn’t need it, and he would never have spent money on it back then, and he couldn’t ask Bruce to buy it now. 

But Jason hadn’t wanted anything more than this in — he didn’t know. And with the way his heart was pounding through his whole body it almost felt like he _did_ need it. Like he couldn’t live with leaving it there, leaving a piece of his mom behind when he could have her, if he just-

“Jay?” Bruce called from the other side of the store.

Jason flinched, turning toward the door just enough to be sure no one could see the bottle in his hands.

“Yeah?” he called back, proud of how steady his voice came out after a harsh swallow. 

“What do you think of these?”

He could hear footsteps, the intentionally loud ones he made when he was walking up behind Jason. And Jason — he held his breath, klaxon alarms going off in his head — it was make a move now or not at all and before he could take another second to just _think_ the footsteps paused and his hands moved of their own accord, sliding the bottle smoothly into the large pocket of his sweatshirt. 

Jason turned around, heart beat thundering in his chest and through his limbs. He could feel it in the bottoms of his _feet_.

Bruce was holding two ties in each hand, two red in one, one blue and one black in the other. Jason blinked at them, doing his best to actually see what he was looking at, to act normal, shove down the panic and alarm as what he had just done was slowly registering in the back of his mind. 

Not the time. Not the time to think about it.

The ties — they all had details and designs to them that Jason might normally inspect thoroughly, if for no other reason than to give Bruce a hard time. But he found when he looked at them now, it was like staring at blank paper. Nothing was coming to him, none of it was getting in. 

“I like the blue one,” he said, clearing his throat in the middle to try and banish the strain in his voice, not even sure if it was true or not.

Bruce raised an eyebrow, glancing him up and down. “What, no snarky commentary?”

Jason shrugged, feeling the weight of the bottle in his pocket, both hands still clenched hard around it, glass slipping against his sweaty palms. “I don’t know,” he said, trying harder than he ever had to sound relaxed. “Do I always gotta have opinions about your style?”

“No,” Bruce said, letting the o draw out a little, “you just usually _do_.” But his piercing eyes drew away from Jason a moment later, as he moved his hand to look at the blue tie again. He hummed, “that one is nice.”

“Why are you even asking? You’re just gonna buy all of ‘em anyway.” 

Bruce frowned and Jason swallowed, cursing the edge in his voice he couldn’t stop from coming out. 

“I was going to buy three.” 

Jason huffed, doing his best not to hunch his shoulders as he looked at them all again; an unidentified timer ticked away somewhere in the back of his head like a bomb. He wanted to get out of there so badly. 

They were supposed to go to lunch after this and Jason had been looking forward to it but now all he wanted was to get back to his room so he could hide it and himself before anybody caught on. 

Instead, he was forced to concentrate on ties. 

One of the red ones had a shimmery embroidered design that looked like an orchid, and the blue one was a subtle houndstooth pattern, an alternating weave the only hint of it. The black one was plain with an embroidered purple cat just to the left of the pointed tip. That was probably the one Bruce was expecting him to comment on.

The other red tie had a gradient running from orange to deep red at the bottom and Jason pointed at it. “You should leave that one. The others are better. I like the cat,” he threw in for good measure. “Bet Selina would, too.”

Bruce shot him a pointed look but Jason could see the suppressed smile in the corners of his mouth and felt a small hint of relief as the suspicion he’d picked up on before seemed to subside.

Jason could do this, he’d done it a thousand times before. He could act natural when it came down to it.

“I agree with the young man here,” Giovanni piped in, walking up slowly behind Bruce. He clapped his hands together and nodded as Bruce turned back to look at him.

“Alright then, I’ll go with these three.” He transferred them to one hand while he held out the red and orange one for Giovanni to take back. Then he walked over to the glass counter with the jewelry in it, where the cash register sat, and he laid out the remaining three ties. 

Jason shuffled closer, wishing this would go by faster, feeling hot under the collar. _Lord_ he used to do this everyday, and now he got this worked up about it?

His stomach twisted up at the thought, feeling suddenly at war with the idea. He chided himself for going soft, even if he was living with Bruce Wayne, things like this didn’t always last and he needed to be prepared if that was the case. 

But then, there was the increasingly familiar climbing shame. Here he was, in nice clothes, clean, combed hair, a rich guardian at his elbow while he was filching from a local shop owner who invested in their community. 

He didn’t need to take it. He could pay for it, he _could now_ — and yet he was still a dirty little thief, even when he didn’t have to be. Jason had defended himself plenty in the past, it was steal or starve, but that’s not what this was.

Jason clenched his jaw, throat sticky and dry as the shame swelled up to swallow the self-reproach. He shouldn’t do it. 

This shop had been around since before Bruce was born. Jason’s _dad_ had shopped here once upon a time and gotten something nice that reminded Jason of good times with his mom, even now. Giovanni was a good guy, he didn’t treat Jason like an untrustworthy street rat, or a poor kid in fancy clothes who didn’t know how to act. He called him _smart_. 

And Jason was stealing from him.

His conscience came over him like a wave, overwhelming in its strength; he felt nearly swept off his feet with it. What was he doing? Jason had spent every minute on the streets hating this. Hating taking what didn’t belong to him, stealing from the better-offs like they couldn’t end up just like him.

This wasn’t who Jason was, it was the _opposite_ of what he wanted to be. 

Not to mention Bruce, and his life now. This could jeopardize _everything_ if he got caught. Bruce might put up with Jason snapping and acting weird sometimes but being a _criminal_? He was _Batman_. He wasn’t gonna just let that go. He might have accepted that Jason had been desperate before but that was not the case anymore. 

Giovanni was walking around the counter, back from replacing the rejected tie, stepping up to face Bruce where the others were laid out between them. Jason only had a minute or two before they’d be walking out of this place. He needed to put it back, but the shelves with the perfume were right next to them. 

Well, he figured, darting looks around the shop, he didn’t need to put it back where it went as long as he left it here. He could just...Jason glanced behind them, back at the shoe counter and the odds and ends displayed there.

He pulled away from Bruce, slipping back over to the other side of the aisle. With his hands still in his pockets, he leaned over the wooden countertop.

It needed to happen quickly, just pull it out smoothly and set it on the counter and no one would notice. They’d just see it after they left and think Jason was careless enough not to put it back. But Jesus, Jason couldn’t afford to be seen. Stealing something had never had such high stakes before. If he’d gotten caught back then he just had to run and try again somewhere else. If he got caught now—

His throat nearly closed up, constricted and painful as he shifted the bottle in his pocket before tossing a glance over his shoulder. Giovanni and Bruce were both still occupied, chatting over an open paper bag while Bruce’s ties were being neatly set inside it. 

Jason turned back and went to make his move, shoulders tensing, when there was a sound from the back room. He flinched back from the counter just in time for a woman to walk out, probably around Bruce’s age. Her hair was pulled up in a bun and an apron was tied around her waist. She glanced at Jason and smiled, walking directly behind the counter he was standing at and going for a set of drawers pressed up against the wall. 

“Hello,” she said, with the same Italian accent as Giovanni, “how are you today?”

“I-I’m good,” Jason all but stuttered, watching her pull open drawers in quick succession and frown until she finally made a little _aha_ noise and pulled a handful of plastic baggies out of one of them. He couldn’t tell what was in them before she stuffed them in a pocket of her apron.

“Vienne!” Giovanni’s voice boomed merrily from behind the jewelry counter and Jason spun around, heart beating rabbit quick as Bruce turned at the same time.

“Bruce, meet Vienne, my granddaughter. She came over from Italy just six months ago, she works on the shoes.” He gestured to the counter behind Jason as he shuffled to the side, trying his best to be out of the way as Bruce turned to make introductions. 

Frantically, he glanced around. He could try for the perfume shelves again but Giovanni was still standing behind the register and now Bruce and Vienne were making small talk and Brucie Wayne was making an appearance, flirting with the pretty-Italian lady while Jason had a silent heart attack. 

There was nowhere he could put it that someone might not see him. 

Panic was slowly edging in, his hands slipping across the bottle in his pocket while his eyes stayed locked on the empty spot on the shelf he’d left behind.

“Jason?” At the sound of Bruce’s voice he nearly jumped clean out of his shoes but managed to only twitch when he turned to face him.

“Sorry for the wait, you’re probably starving. Let’s head out, huh?” 

Vienne waved at them before she spun to return to the back room, and Giovanni rapped his knuckles on the glass counter, smiling when Jason looked at him. “Have a good lunch! Always a pleasure to have you in my shop.”

“Y-yeah, thanks.”

Bruce put an arm out, the one not holding the paper bag with his ties in it, and ushered Jason toward the door.

He turned, feeling like someone else was controlling his movements, feet shuffling toward the door like he was walking to the gallows. Jason didn’t know what to do. He’d missed his opportunity, there would be no more chances, he had to-

“Oh shoot,” he stopped in his tracks, Bruce nearly tripping to avoid stepping on his heels, “I think I left something in the dressing room, I’ll be right back.”

Before Bruce could say a word in return Jason ducked under his arm and half jogged past the fitting platforms and to the dressing room where his suit pants and jacket still hung to the side. The curtain was half draped closed and he ducked behind it, taking a split second to breathe, closing his eyes against how light headed he felt.

But he didn’t have time to doddle. Snapping his eyes open, Jason glanced around the dressing room for anywhere it wouldn’t seem out of place for a bottle of perfume to have ended up. There was a small chair to one side for putting your things while changing but that would be way too obvious. Then there was a set of two shelves just to the right of it with a picture of somewhere in Italy and a little vase with flowers in it. Jason quickly stepped toward it — and then he hesitated.

He had to leave it here. He couldn’t take it. He _couldn’t_.

But it still killed him a little, to leave her behind.

With a deep breath he forced himself to pull it out of his pocket and reach up to set it on the shelf. He took a second to arrange it next to the flowers so it looked like it was meant to be there, and then he stepped back, staring at it and imagining, one last time, his mom picking it up off the bathroom counter, raising her head, and spritzing it on before she turned and gave him a crooked smile.

Jason wouldn’t forget it was here. Maybe he could work himself up to coming back for it sometime, if he found a way to make his own money. 

Giving a last soft sigh, Jason turned back toward the entrance of the shop and froze. His lungs stuttered to a stop, he could swear his blood stopped flowing through his veins for an instant.

Bruce was standing there, one hand still clutching the paper bag while the other held back the curtain, staring at Jason with an unreadable expression.

“I-“ he squeaked involuntarily, not having any idea what he was going to say. He felt like a machine with gum in the gears, twisted up and sparking in alarm. “I was putting it back,” he finally whispered, feeling blood rush to his face as shame and fear pooled in his feet, quickly rising through him.

Bruce let out a soft sigh, frowning before he glanced behind him, probably checking if Giovanni had seen. Lord, Jason hoped not. 

“I was putting it back,” he insisted, when Bruce turned his attention back to him.

“I know,” he said, voice quiet, “I saw you.”

Jason swallowed, a lump in his throat the size of Rhode Island, gritting his teeth so hard he was sure they would crack. He didn’t know how to defend himself. “I-“

“Come on,” Bruce said, sounding resigned, turning half toward the door and motioning with the bag, “let’s go.”

Only, Jason just stood there, feet cemented to the floor as Bruce began to drop the curtain before pausing, eyes flicking over Jason carefully.

“Jay,” he said, voice even quieter than before, “we can talk about it in the car, alright?”

He nodded on reflex, blinking back wetness in his eyes and forcing his feet to move.

_In the car,_ sure. where they’d be alone and Bruce could flip his shit. Or maybe he’d just drive Jason back to Crime alley and leave him there, where he apparently belonged.

The thought almost made him laugh, albeit hysterically. Little alley rat Jason Todd left back where it all started because he couldn’t let well enough alone. Why did he have to be so _stupid_?

What kind of person’s reflex is to steal something instead of just asking for it? Or better yet, having some damned self control and leaving it there. Jason wasn’t a baby, and his mom had been gone for over a year, he should be...he didn’t know why it hit him so hard, the smell of the perfume. Thinking about it while he trudged toward the door still made his stomach drop even through the panic and he glanced back toward the dressing room as Bruce opened the door, the little bell chiming with the motion.

Giovanni had disappeared somewhere, apparently content that they were leaving, but he suddenly poked his head out from the back room at the sound, giving them one last wave and smile.

Jason hesitated, raising his hand in a half wave, dread dripping down his spine, thinking it might be the last time he saw the man. 

What a waste of work, really, hemming Dick’s old suit.

When Jason turned back toward the open door, Bruce was still standing there holding it open, watching Jason with that same blank expression that gave him the heebie-jeebies from day one. So far, it hadn’t meant anything bad but Jason wasn’t holding his breath. 

This would be the end of his fairytale. Banishment. _Something_. Batman couldn’t very well house a thief. 

Oh well, he told himself, at least it was nice while it lasted. He tried to resign himself to it, tried not to feel like he was gonna cry as he stepped past Bruce and through the open door, shuffling down the sidewalk to their fancy, out-of-place car.

Opening the car door with numb fingers, Jason slipped inside, slouching low in the leather seat and trying to prepare himself for whatever this would be. Getting reamed out seemed like a good bet, at the very least.

He had a passing moment to be grateful that Bruce didn’t hit kids as the driver’s side door opened and the man got in slowly next to him. When his door closed it was suddenly very quiet, the insulation of the car cutting out any street noise, leaving them with nothing but Jason’s loud breathing for background music. 

Staying quiet was his best bet to not make things worse than they already were, so he kept his mouth shut, curling low in the seat and crossing his arms over his chest like a pouting child as Bruce put both hands on the wheel, flexing his fingers around it and finally turning toward him. Jason tightened his jaw, waiting for it

“Jason.”

Bruce’s voice wasn’t loud. He didn’t blow up and scream like Willis used to do all the time, he spoke just loud enough to be heard. But Jason still flinched, hard enough to bite his tongue and knock his elbow into the door handle, leaving him cringing in embarrassment. His heart was hammering so loud in his ears he was surprised he even heard Bruce over it.

“Jason,” he repeated, even quieter, “look at me, please.” 

Jason _hated_ that. Hated when adults snapped, _“look at me when I’m talking to you.”_ Just so he could watch them lose their shit and then accuse him of snide looks or glaring or whatever the hell else and smack him around some more. 

They didn’t usually sound like Bruce did, though. And not listening had so far not done Jason many favors either. So, he took a shallow breath and sat up a little straighter, telling himself not to cringe and cower like he’d done when he was really small, before he’d learned to get angry instead. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected when he looked at Bruce but all he got was a frown he couldn’t read and an overwhelming certainty that this would be it. Might as well get it over with.

“I’m not angry.”

Jason snorted, edging on hysterical. “Yes, you are.”

Bruce blinked back at him. “I’m not.”

“Yes you _are_ ,” Jason insisted, tightening his arms over his chest and looking away, straight ahead out the windshield.

He could still see Bruce staring at him out of the corner of his eye, frown deepening. Maybe Jason should just let him lie about it and not make things worse but he’d never been good at letting things be.

“Why do you think that?” Bruce finally asked, glancing at his hands and loosening his grip on the wheel.

Jason all but sputtered, looking back toward the shop across the sidewalk. “Because I’m a _thief_ ,” he spit the word with as much venom as he could muster, feeling the sting of it like he deserved. 

“Because I know better,” he added, quieter. That was another thing Willis used to say.

_“You know better than that, you filthy little-“_

“Guess it’s true what they say. Can take the kid outta the street, but-“

“Jason,” Bruce interrupted, sounding just a little bit frustrated now, “don’t say things like that.”

“Why? It’s true.” He slumped in his seat, miserable and hating himself and all the while missing that soft scent, remembering the feel of his mom’s hand in his hair. His chest ached, now more than ever, that she wasn’t here. That he’d ruined his chances at a good thing all for a stupid little reminder of her. And he really shouldn’t think about it because — because now his eyes stung and his throat hurt and he couldn’t look at Bruce at all. 

The man let out a soft breath through his nose and didn’t speak for an extended moment, not until Jason finally managed to swallow and snuck a glance his direction. And then he said, voice soft, “You don’t need to be afraid-“

“I’m not afraid,” Jason snapped by reflex, flushing at the crack in his voice, embarrassingly transparent. Who was he kidding anyway? He was always afraid; he just hated how obvious it was.

“Ok,” Bruce responded after a pause, voice hushed. There was an even longer silence then, before he turned back to the steering wheel, staring at it like it might tell him what to do next.

Finally, he opened his mouth, “Can you tell me why, at least?” He said it directly to the wheel and Jason stayed right where he was, not looking at Bruce, feeling his stomach twist up in knots.

“Why what?” He asked, like he didn’t already know.

Bruce glanced over, eyes unimpressed. “Why you even thought to take it.”

“I don’t know,” Jason lied, giving a shrug. “It was expensive and easy to grab.” The words felt hollow and bitter coming out of his mouth; it was all the things he knew people already thought about him.

Bruce tapped a thumb on the wheel and stared at the windshield with narrowed eyes. Then he let out a little sigh and nodded to himself.

“Let’s go to lunch.”

“What.” Jason turned back to stare at him as Bruce started the car and put it in gear, glancing in the rearview mirror before he pulled onto the street.

“Where would you like to go?”

“I...” Jason was dumb founded, still pressing himself into the seat, watching the side of Bruce’s stoic face. What the hell was this?

“Jay?”

“I don’t care?” He finally answered, voice lilting up at the end and having no idea what Bruce was doing. Was this part of his punishment? Drag it out long enough to torture him?

“How about Zippy’s?”

Jason continued to stare, wishing he could just see what was going on in Bruce’s head. He knew he got it wrong a lot of the time, but he didn’t see how he could be this off base right now. 

“Sure,” Jason breathed out finally, not feeling the least bit hungry. This was about to be the most excruciating lunch he’d ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Some descriptions of grief, some very negative self talk, extreme anxiety nearing panic attack levels. 
> 
> _________
> 
> so....sorry for the apparent cliffhanger lmao. This chapter is already over 8k and I didn't want to drag it any longer!! Next chapter we start into Bruce's POV!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://batbirdies.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some small warnings in end notes<3

Bruce had thought, after raising Dick for some eight years, a child with trauma of his own, that he had been relatively prepared for the challenges that Jason would bring. Of course, he’d known there would be surprises and bumps in the road occasionally, he just hadn’t thought he would be rendered helpless quite so frequently. 

It was a common occurrence when Dick was young, but as time passed Bruce had worked out the things that helped most and the things that made everything worse and eventually it had felt like progress. Like he was actually helping. Like he hadn’t just made a horrible decision for this kid and called it _‘good intentions’._

His own hubris was to blame, and a blindness to how different Dick and Jason’s trauma were, along with their personalities, to think that raising Jason would be at all the same. He still would have done it, even knowing in advance, just as he’d decided to take Dick in even though he’d known very well at the time that he had no idea what he was doing. But he might have caught on a little sooner.

Somehow he’d forgotten what it felt like to look at this hurting kid and not know how to help. 

And now, after stalling an obviously necessary conversation, he sat and quietly panicked. Bruce was fairly certain it didn’t read on his face — not that he had any particular skill at hiding these things, but rather he’d been informed that little ever did. At least he didn’t think Jason would be able to tell. 

And lunch might be a distraction for the moment but they did still need to eat. Especially Jason.

So, they drove in silence toward the Burger place while Jason sunk lower and lower in his seat until his eyes were below the edge of the window and he turned his gaze to stare flatly at the dashboard instead. 

Bruce could remember the night he’d found him in the alley with surprising clarity. There had been a strong sense of deja vu when he’d walked quietly up behind him after his strange behavior. It had doubled when he’d silently pulled the curtain back and seen Jason slip the bottle of perfume out of his pocket; and then tripled when he turned around and stared at Bruce like he was holding a gun. He’d half expected him to deny the entire thing, like he had with the tires.

But not this time; _this_ time Jason let out a half whispered defense like he could barely make himself speak. 

He couldn’t quite deny being troubled at the discovery, but he _wasn’t_ angry. Jason may have had a moment of weakness but he’d done the right thing in the end. It was only an issue now because Bruce had spotted him. He felt a twinge of shame at the passing thought that if he’d only stayed and waited for him at the door he wouldn’t have to figure out what to do about it now. If there even was anything, beyond repeated reassurance. 

But that’s what he’d been trying so far, and it didn’t appear to be enough. Jason was obviously terrified of Bruce’s reaction. He’d so far alternated between blinking back tears and feigning resignation, Bruce was just waiting for defensive anger to pop up next. He just had no idea what to _do_ about it. Or even where it had come from.

Over the months since Jason had come to live with them it had become obvious to Bruce that the boy had an aversion to spending money, especially on anything he deemed unnecessary. Bruce had so far attempted to be respectful of that and to buy him more reasonably priced options when it came to clothing and electronic devices. Of course, Jason was used to having so little Bruce wasn’t sure if he even realized it or if, to him, _everything_ just seemed astronomically expensive. 

Bruce wasn’t even sure, though, if this instance stemmed from the same issue or something else. Because so far each time Jason had reacted poorly to the thought of buying something it had at least obviously been things he wanted. A bottle of perfume was not one Bruce was making the connection with but he was equally distrustful of Jason’s explanation.

They had been plenty of places where Jason could have stolen something before now, and he never had.

At least, of course, that Bruce was aware of. 

But no, he highly doubted that he had. Despite the comments that Jason made about himself (another something Bruce felt sorely unequipped to address), he had only ever observed him doing his best to obey the rules wherever they went. He’d even been nervous that his shoes weren’t the right color for his school uniform because they were black instead of the dark brown listed on the regulations sheet. 

Bruce consciously did not allow himself to grip the steering wheel too tightly, despite the natural inclination to fidget. Jason seemed to read directly into those cues and the last thing he wanted to communicate was frustration. But for all the good stalling seemed to be doing him, they were already nearing the restaurant and Bruce couldn’t be less interested in food.

The streets were busy as they circled the block, and Bruce put his focus briefly on finding a parking spot. When they finally pulled into one he hesitated, wondering if he should say something before they got out. But before he could make up his mind Jason had unbuckled his seat belt, opened his door, and rolled himself onto the sidewalk from his low position. Bruce watched him, and the defeated slope of his shoulders and tried to _understand._

Parenting books were not a foreign concept to Bruce, he had read dozens over the years, mainly when Dick had first come to him. He didn’t remember them being particularly helpful in most cases but he still did his best to recall any of the numerous things about “troubled children” he had read in the past; even while such a title grated on his nerves.

The only thing he could think of as he opened his door and followed after Jason, was testing boundaries. It had been a number of months now; sufficient time to perhaps start feeling comfortable enough to test the waters for real.

Jason had initially been so skittish Bruce was afraid to _move_ around him. But after the initial few weeks with no major incidents he’d seemed to relax, at least enough not to constantly stand just out of arms reach. Because yes, Bruce had noticed that. 

Becoming Robin had seemed to make the biggest difference, and Bruce had thought Jason was on his way to trusting him for real. Maybe this was part of that, a test of his reaction. Only he’d panicked at the last moment and tried to take it back.

Bruce wondered, as he watched him slide into a booth, folding his arms over the laminate tabletop and resting his chin there, if he was even on the right track. He looked miserable, if Bruce were being honest, eyes cast down and shoulders hunched. Whatever had motivated it, it was obvious he regretted the action now. 

“What are you in the mood for?” Bruce asked as he slid a menu across the table. Jason flicked his eyes up and then back down, brows drawing together before he sighed and sat up, opening the front cover. 

“I don’t know,” he mumbled, “cheeseburger I guess.”

“That sounds good,” Bruce lied, opening his own and glancing down the front page for show. He didn’t read it, he knew none of it would sound particularly appetizing with his mind buzzing the way it was. Hunger always evaded him when he was working through a problem. 

When the waitress came by Jason ordered a cheeseburger and fries and Bruce requested the same. The food was fine, if somewhat tasteless as he forced himself to eat it. Unfortunately, despite Bruce’s best efforts to start conversation (admittedly not one of his strong suits), Jason remained listless and unresponsive. He barely picked at his burger, and spent most of the meal drawing fries through his ketchup like he was painting a picture.

While Bruce had hoped that the meal would put him more at ease it did not seem to be having the desired effect, and any insight Bruce had hoped to gain on the boy’s thinking seemed unlikely. He flagged down the waitress, finally, after the third time he witnessed Jason pick up a fry, dip it in ketchup, and then simply set it back down. 

He got Jason’s to go, paid quietly, and hoped he might be stricken with inspiration on the drive home. Or that Alfred, at least, might have some sort of experienced advice to lend him, though he had seemed just as thrown as Bruce after Jason had fled the grocery store in a panic. 

Deep in thought as he was, Jason’s suddenly harsh speech took him off guard.

“Can we just get this over with?”

They were back in the car, Jason’s leftovers sat between his feet and his seatbelt was on. Bruce’s was still in one hand and stretched halfway across his chest. He blinked, pausing mid motion and briefly debated completing the action before he reached back and let it retract into the doorframe. 

“Get what over with, Jay?” He asked, though he sensed he knew, he tried not to assume when it came to Jason.

Of course, the question frustrated him, and he glared out the windshield, crossing his arms over his chest. “Whatever you’re gonna do, just _tell me._ If I’m out, I’m out, I get it.” 

Bruce sat still for an extended moment, hoping to parse out what exactly that statement meant before giving up and asking slowly, “If you’re out?”

Jason flushed, red peeking up above his collar as he shrugged and looked down at his lap. “The big guy can’t just be housing criminals and all. I get it.”

“You—“ Bruce stopped, momentarily so dumbfounded he couldn’t speak and then immediately feeling so _stupid_ for not understanding. But he could see, as he remained silent, that Jason was slowly shrinking against the door, as far from him as he could be in the small space, and he knew he had to say _something._

“Jason,” he started, sounding harsher than he intended and internally grimacing at himself, “first, you are _not_ a criminal, whatever your definition of the word, you did _not_ commit a crime in that shop. Second, you are not... _out.”_ He sighed, tilting his head in hopes of catching Jason’s eyes but he didn’t look up. 

“That’s not even on the table Jay, ok? That’s not an option.”

Bruce watched him, cataloguing the height of his shoulders in relation to his ears, the tilt of his chin pointing toward the floor, and how completely still he was sitting, and spoke again, quieter, “Jaylad, do you understand?”

Jason swallowed, harshly enough that Bruce could hear his throat click before he finally glanced over with tears standing in his eyes. He blinked and nodded, one falling before he had a chance to hide it as he brought his arm up and scrubbed a sleeve covered hand over his face, sniffing hard. Turning back toward the window, he didn’t look back again but he did eventually speak. “So then, what?” he asked, voice thick though steady. 

Discipline had not been on Bruce’s mind up to this point. He had no intention of adding to whatever self reproach Jason was surely already berating himself with. And Jason _hadn’t_ stolen the perfume, even if he had thought about it. Bruce almost told him the same thing again but then he hesitated. He still wasn’t positive he was reading the situation correctly and he certainly didn’t believe Jason’s explanation that it was a just an easy grab.

“So,” he said slowly, “I think we should talk.”

Jason did turn his head then, glancing back at him with incredulous eyes, red rimmed but dry. Bruce wasn’t sure if the look was because it was _him_ saying it, or if it simply didn’t sound enough like a punishment.

“About what?” Jason snapped, then blinked, shrinking a little at his own tone.

Bruce ignored it, as he usually did; he of all people understood that words didn’t always come out how you wanted them to. “About why you initially decided to take the perfume.” 

Jason gaped at him. “I already told you, it was just easy—“ 

“You did,” Bruce interrupted, “but I don’t think that’s the whole story.”

The boy’s face went through a series of gymnastics, settling on disgruntled, nose scrunching up as he sat up fully and turned in his seat to face Bruce, tears apparently forgotten.

“I don’t know what you expect me to say.”

Bruce let out a small huff of breath and gave him a level look. “I’m not looking for a specific answer, I just want to understand what was going through your head.”

“I _told you.”_ Jason said, starting to sound upset again. 

“Yes,” Bruce returned, “you told me it was easy to take. But you’ve had plenty of opportunities to steal things in the past, so what made this time different?”

Jason looked suddenly distressed to the point of panic. “I don’t _know, ok?”_

His voice came out high and loud, a squeaking crack down the middle, and before Jason had the chance to go into a full meltdown Bruce stopped him.

“Ok,” he said in a low voice, doing his best to calm the mood in the car. “That’s ok for now. We don’t have to discuss it right this minute. But there is a reason, and I want you to think about what it is.”

There was quiet. No noise but Jason’s harsh breathing to keep up with his no doubt speeding heart as he blinked slowly, like he was trying to wrap his head around it all. When enough time had passed that Bruce no longer expected a reply, and Jason’s breathing slowed to a more reasonable level, he reached back and pulled his seatbelt on and started the car. 

“We can give it the night,” he decided arbitrarily as he pulled out onto the street, heading back toward the manor. “I’ll be out late on patrol tonight, we can discuss it tomorrow.” He glanced over at Jason as they moved steadily toward the freeway, trying to gauge his response. 

“If you still don’t think you know why you did it by then, we can talk about that too, ok?” 

Jason hesitated, seeming to digest this information as his shoulders slowly came down to a standard resting level and he asked, “That’s it?”

He was clearly wary of some sort of trap, but appeared unable to see a reason for one. 

“That’s it,” Bruce said, very quietly, eyes casting to the sideview mirror as he changed lanes, taking away the pressure of his undivided attention. One glance back told him that Jason was not entirely satisfied with this answer, still scowling like he didn’t understand, but he didn’t argue this time. 

“Ok,” he mumbled, turning his back to Bruce to gaze out the window instead, effectively ending the conversation, if Bruce allowed it. 

There was nothing more to say in the moment, so he let the quiet settle and leaned forward to turn on the radio. Bruce hoped, dearly, dearly hoped, that he’d played that the right way. He was going to reference whatever parenting books he could dig up that night, especially in the event that Jason did decide he really wasn’t sure why he took it.

Sometimes that was the case, Bruce knew, that you just did things without understanding _why._ He knew it better than many. But there was always an underlying reason, and he intended to find out what it was, for Jason’s sake. 

*

The rest of Bruce’s afternoon went by quietly.

As soon as they returned to the manor Jason disappeared into his room and shut the door, a clear message — don’t come in. He didn’t rush or slam it closed, but even so, as soon as Bruce ran into Alfred the older man frowned.

“Is something the matter? Master Jason usually comes to greet me when he arrives home.”

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts before he even attempted to explain the situation. 

Alfred invited him down to the kitchen, sensing a longer conversation, and went about making them both tea while Bruce fumbled through the story. By the time he’d finished, Alfred was standing at the sink with a bowl in his hands as he ran a towel over it, long beyond when it was dry.

The silence dragged and Bruce resisted fidgeting, hands wrapped around a half full mug of lukewarm tea. He knew he was no father of the year, and presenting his responses to Alfred often felt like handing in a school report in his worst subject. The quiet didn’t appear to be a good sign, and Bruce continued to sink deeper into uncertainty the longer it went on, questioning even having the suit altered in the first place. 

“Do you think I should have just gotten him a new tux?” He asked, when the silence began to feel suffocating.

Alfred glanced up in surprise, eyebrows high. “Oh dear, no. Why? Did he say something about it?”

“No,” Bruce shook his head, eyes following the bowl as Alfred finally set it to the side and leaned against the sink. “I just wondered if maybe...” but as quickly as the idea came he dismissed it. 

Of course, Alfred could often tell what he was thinking. “...That perhaps he was resentful of being treated as lesser?” The older man asked. 

It had been Bruce’s initial concern when he’d brought up the idea to Alfred to start with. Would Jason prefer it, seeing as it was at least not as wasteful as the other option, or would he feel like the second son, less important and less worthy? 

Bruce took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “But I don’t think so. When I asked if he;d prefer his own he just seemed confused, I don’t think the idea even occurred to him.” 

Alfred hummed a neutral sound and Bruce watched him pick up the bowl and take it to a cabinet, fussing with straightening the dishes inside when he said, “It would seem rather out of character to exact _revenge_ in such a way, at the very least.” 

Bruce nodded, hoping for more, to extract some form of worldly knowledge from the man who’d somehow managed to raise _him._ “What do you think?” He finally asked, when the butler continued to look thoughtful and remain quiet.

Alfred paused, still facing the cabinets, back to Bruce, and let out a sigh. This in itself was almost alarming, Alfred rarely _sighed._ He tutted, and he hummed; mostly he simply raised an eyebrow, but a sigh was unusual. 

“I think,” he managed after a moment, turning to face Bruce again, “that you should do just what you said.”

Bruce blinked, wondering when he’d uttered any sort of potential solution during their conversation. “What I said?”

“Yes,” he gave a soft laugh then, clasping his hands in front of him. “Speak to the boy.” 

He didn’t respond right away, and Alfred began to laugh again, quietly, “Master Bruce, don’t look so dour. It was _your_ suggestion.” 

Bruce frowned, taking a drink of his now cold tea just for something to do. “Yes,” he said when he lowered it back to the counter, “I was hoping for an experts advice.” 

“Well,” Alfred raised his eyebrows, looking even more amused, “I’m afraid you’ve come to wrong place then, as flattered as I am.” His expression softened and went briefly sad as he glanced down at his clasped hands. 

“I’m no expert, Master Bruce, I would think the incident at the grocery store would be evidence enough.”

“That-“

“Was my mistake,” Alfred dipped his chin, eyes appearing older than Bruce was used to. “I assumed that Master Jason’s insecurities about money would manifest similarly to Master Richard’s, when he first joined us here and was so unused to the affluence. That he simply needed encouragement to feel comfortable. But Master Richard and Master Jason’s circumstances were quite different, and I failed to take that into account.” 

“Even still,” Bruce offered, feeling just how he had the day Alfred had called him, more flustered than he could remember hearing him since Dick was freshly grieving and would climb to the highest, most dangerous places in the manor anytime someone took their eyes off him. He wasn’t used to hearing Alfred be unsure, it was unsettling. 

“Even still what?” He asked, raising an eyebrow. “I assumed something I shouldn’t have. That’s all there is to it. I’m afraid I don’t know anymore than you do about a better way to handle things moving forward other than - you’re correct. You should talk to him. Because I think our biggest problem here is we are sadly uninformed.” 

Bruce took a deep breath, turning the mug in his hands around and around on the counter top as he stared into the little remaining liquid in the bottom. 

“I know,” he said, hands stilling. “But every time I try to talk to him about...about any of it, he clams up.”

“Hm,” Alfred said, taking the few steps back to the sink again. “That sounds like someone else I know.”

“Hn,” Bruce tapped fingers on the counter and leaned to the side, resting his chin in the other hand. 

“You’d think you’d understand each other quite well.”

He huffed a sigh, wishing more than anything that was the case. 

“If only.”

*

True to his word, just after dinner, Bruce went digging for the few parenting books he’d found helpful when Dick was a child.

Jason had eaten with them, but been difficult to engage just as he had been at the restaurant earlier in the day, immediately retreating back to his room afterward. Bruce felt mildly guilty for being grateful it was a Sunday and he wouldn’t be patrolling with him that night. With his current mood Bruce would feel inclined to bench him and he knew without even thinking about it that it would go poorly. 

The books he’d collected initially were varied in approach and method and Bruce had quickly grown confused. He’d thrown away a number of them, though, after the first time Dick had snuck into his room after a nightmare, and slept in his bed. It was surprising how many professionals thought the practice of comforting a child this way was fostering _unhealthy attachments._ Especially considering the many cultures in which the practice is very common.

After that he’d slowly picked his way through things that worked, crossed out the things that didn’t help, and winged it most of the time anyway. Now, hours after dinner when he should be going downstairs to prepare for patrol he was knee deep in a stack of the ones he’d kept, hunting for something that might be more applicable to this particular situation; there was very little. He had a couple books on the challenges of raising adopted children, which could be somewhat insightful at times, but which didn’t seem to hit the mark either.

Bruce had done some reading in a few online journals as well over the years, about the long term effects of poverty. He’d read most of them long before Jason ever came to him and revisited a few now. Unfortunately, while they gave him some level of comprehension, they were generally focused on adult behavior, or spoke in generalized terms about social groups, with few applicable anecdotes. 

After the third one he’d scrolled through, books abandoned to the side, there was a short knock on the doorframe. “Unfortunately, no one has written a book about this particular child yet.”

“Alfred,” Bruce deadpanned, letting one hand drop to the desk as he closed his straining eyes and rubbed at them with the other. “I’m trying here.”

When he looked up again the man had stepped inside the door, closing it lightly behind him. “And I mean no insult to your efforts,” he assured him, coming further into the room. “But I’m afraid only so much can be learned from books and articles. The answers you seek can only come from one source.” 

Bruce reached up with a sigh and shut the laptop in front of him, leaning back in his chair. “I know, I just wish I had a better understanding, he’s...” Bruce trailed off, unsure what he meant to say.

Alfred hovered in the middle of the room for a moment, before he finally walked to the couch and took a seat on the edge of the nearest cushion. “He’s been through quite a lot, yes. Many things you cannot relate to.”

Winding his hands together Bruce stared at them resting on the desk, giving no response. That much was obvious. 

It was easy, at times, to think of things in detached, clinical ways. To learn factual information about _food insecurity_ and _hoarding;_ it was entirely more difficult to think of those things in the context of _Jason._

To imagine him stealing from strangers in an attempt to support a mother who could no longer work, hiding from a father who did more bad than good if he was even around. To think of him anxiously hiding money and whatever other assets he could scrounge up for himself, forgoing meals and saving food he had on hand because he’d eaten the day _before,_ he could go longer without and he didn’t want to _waste._ Taping up old, torn up shoes because the soles had worn through on the only pair he had. Being chased out of abandoned apartments, the only dry place he could find to sleep at night... 

“Master Bruce,” Bruce glanced up, more at the concern in the butler’s voice than anything else, and found it clearly reflected in his face. “My dear boy,” he said, “are you alright?”

His hands were gripped around both knees and Bruce could see them squeeze tightly, as if stopping himself from reaching out. It wasn’t until he blinked and felt a tear roll down his face that he understood why.

“M,” he grunted, swiping it away as discreetly as he could and ignoring the way his chest tightened in grief for a time when he hadn’t been there. He blinked away any more sign of it, and nodded, taking a deep, chest-filling breath. “I’m fine, Alfred.”

The other man looked anything but convinced but rather than push, as some might, he frowned and shifted his hands to clasp together between his knees. “Perhaps,” he started, voice carefully light, “Master Jason may be more likely to confide in you, if he saw this side of you more.”

Bruce shook his head, mouth twisting in disbelief. “He’ll just accuse me of pity,” he said gruffly, still avoiding Alfred’s eyes.

The butler tilted his chin down, looking unimpressed. “Compassion and pity may be brothers, but one does not equal the other.” 

Bruce looked up, his own expression flat. “You’re rhyming now?”

“And your deflecting,” Alfred said, eyebrows raised, “But that’s nothing new, is it.”

The biting wit was no surprise but it stung all the same. Bruce glanced down at the closed computer and the small pile of old paperbacks stacked next to it.

“I’m sorry,” Alfred said after a moment, “That was rather harsh. I only wish you success; I simply worry you will try to dissect the boy like some sort of case study when all he really needs is that same compassion.” 

Bruce rested forward, pressed a fist to his mouth, and simply sat there. Alfred was right, of course. If he made a reference to a single statistic or asked too pointed of questions Jason was likely to catch on to exactly why. He was a smart boy and he would take it as an insult, as Alfred said. Like he was just some broken machine with a manual somewhere; if only Bruce could find it. 

After a moment Alfred let out a soft breath and pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his sweater. “You are one of the most capable men I’ve ever met. Perhaps this situation is out of your wheelhouse, but I know you can meet the challenge.”

“Hn,” Bruce studied the surface of his desk, wishing he had the same confidence, and wondering, a little wryly, if Alfred wasn’t simply trying to make him feel better. “I hope you’re right.”

The butler clasped his hands and nodded to himself. “Another thing you have yet to learn, I’m afraid. I am always right.”

Bruce huffed a silent breath and watched the older man leave, off to attend to his own duties and hopefully retire for a while, before he returned to the cave later to work coms. And then he sat and thought. 

It wasn’t until he was heading downstairs to begin patrol that Alfred’s wording struck him. Yes, perhaps he was _capable_ of meeting the challenge. But would he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Some brief descriptions of childhood homelessness....I don't think there's anything else in this one that I can think of.
> 
> ____
> 
> We're getting closer and closer...I promise. Notice that I added "slow burn family relationships" to the tag list 😅


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce continues to ponder Jason, has a momentary scare, and finally, an important conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> slight warnings in end notes.

Throughout the evening and into patrol, Bruce continued to reflect on Jason, and his behavior. He thought, at dinner, that his eyes were perhaps a little red but it wasn’t enough to tell if he’d been crying.

Bruce felt so helpless. He remembered being that age, being so filled up with things he could never put into words. So overwhelmed that he didn’t know what to do with himself, or how to deal with any of it.

Back then, Bruce had reacted by retreating, turning his anger and hurt inward to a self destructive degree. Bruce didn’t want that for Jason. He didn’t want him to compress all of his struggling and pain down into the base of his chest until the coal of it turned to diamonds -- it wouldn’t happen, there could be no success there.

But how he could get Jason to talk to him about this, and other issues in the past, was a roadblock. Because anytime Bruce hinted at a conversation about it the reaction was swift and often severe. Jason did not like to talk about his anxieties or fears. He did his best to claim they didn’t exist at all but it was obvious to anyone paying attention that Jason was afraid of so many things, understandably so. 

From a very young age he had experienced frightening and disturbing things. Bruce knew that even now, multiple months after he came to live in the manor, that he didn’t fully trust that it would last. 

It didn’t hurt his feelings, Bruce knew Jason’s distrust of safety and especially of a father figure, did not originate with him. But it was disappointing in that he _wanted_ Jason to feel safe, and it pained him that he didn’t.

Bruce wondered though, as he went through patrol, grappling across the city and dealing with petty criminals and people just like those who had wronged Jason in the past, what more could he do to make the boy feel safe?

To make him feel like he could _talk_ to Bruce without fearing his reaction, punishment or otherwise.

Alfred wanted him to express how _he_ felt to Jason, but how could he? What could he tell him that he hadn’t already said? Did Alfred really want him to shed tears in front of the boy? Would that even help? Or would it make him feel caught out and pressured, possibly guilty.

The question lingered in his mind throughout the night. Jason had a safe, comfortable place to sleep, he had good, guaranteed food, proper clothing and all the things necessary to succeed in school. Bruce did his best not to be physically intimidating, though he knew by virtue of his size alone it wasn’t entirely possible to succeed. He was gentle with Jason, as much as he could be, even while training. He tried in every way possible not to call back memories of the father who’d abused him but there were many things he didn’t know...because Jason simply didn’t talk about them. 

Sometimes he would let little details slip, casually, like he didn’t think they mattered. Like the time Bruce had asked him where the small round scar between his neck and the cusp of his shoulder had come from and he’d snorted.

_“Haven’t you ever seen a cigarette burn, B?”_

_Not on an eleven year old,_ he’d wanted to reply. Instead he stayed silent, knowing if he reacted strongly in any way Jason would get upset or embarrassed and lock even those little details away. 

They did spend time together, as much as Bruce could manage. They’d watch movies, sometimes read books together. They _did_ talk, but it was mainly about those things, easy surface chatter. Talk about fictional characters unrelated to their actual lives. But there must be a way to draw out the deeper things. 

The thought wouldn’t leave him. More and more it niggled at the back of his mind, even distracting him through patrol to the point of letting an armed robber get in a lucky punch. 

Did the boy confide in anyone, he wondered? Or was he like Bruce had been at that age...isolated, feeling as if no one around him understood. 

He knew Jason spent time with Alfred often enough. That the man was teaching him how to cook simple things, that they enjoyed each other’s company. But from speaking with Alfred, he didn’t appear anymore forthcoming with the butler than with Bruce. 

There were plenty of things Bruce could relate to in Jason. His anger at the injustice in the world, frustration at his powerlessness, even if it was on an entirely different scale. But that would make all the difference to Jason.

Being a _billionaire_ who still struggled to incite change in the world did not compare to being a small boy who could do nothing as he watched his mother waste away, and who couldn’t protect himself from those who would do him harm — and there were many.

But Bruce had been a powerless young boy once too. He remembered the feeling well. 

*

He stayed on patrol for a long time that night. Long enough that the sky was just beginning to lighten when he pulled back into the cave. Sometimes wearing himself out physically was the only way to make himself sleep on nights when his mind wouldn’t quiet. And so, exhaustedly, he changed out of his uniform, showered, made a few abridged patrol notes, and headed upstairs, hoping a full night's sleep would make things clearer. 

Only, on his way down the main hall back toward the master bedroom, he went to check on Jason, as was his usual pattern. 

The room was empty.

Bruce reached over from where he stood in the doorway and flicked on the light, suppressing his initial spike of alarm, but the room remained void of life. The sheets were rumpled, signaling that Jason had at least been in them at some point during the night, but was nowhere to be seen currently. Bruce shouldn’t be surprised, he told himself. Jason often had trouble sleeping, it only made sense that the problem would crop up tonight, after such a stressful day.

He would likely find him in the library, either burning through his second novel of the night or passed out asleep on the couch with one propped on his chest. 

It was when the library was dark and cold inside, absent even the light of a lamp, that his anxiety began to climb. There weren’t many other places Jason would go when he couldn’t sleep. Perhaps the kitchen, with Alfred.

But no, the kitchen was empty as well and by now his breath was coming in short, quick-bursts and the thought of sleep was far from his mind. He was frozen for a moment, trying to decide whether to wake Alfred yet or to keep looking on his own, but the anxiety of not knowing where his son was in that moment was clouding his judgement. He couldn’t tell if he was completely overreacting or if his extreme concern was warranted even as he tore himself away from the kitchen and back down the main hall. 

He could be up watching television, if he wanted some noise in the background. But the den was empty too.

Bruce all but ran down the hall to his bedroom, his goal to grab his civilian cell phone and try to call Jason, maybe contact Clark if he didn’t pick up. If Jason had been _that_ opposed to talking about this and had decided to run away while Bruce was on patrol he couldn’t have gotten more than a few miles away, but it would take too long to track him down by car and—

And there was a lump on his bed.

As he swung the door open and reached for the light switch Bruce slowed, hand coming to a stop just before flicking it on, staring at the boy shaped form on the edge of his mattress. He blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the low lighting as his heart rate began to slow. Dropping his hand from the light switch he carefully approached the bed, staring in bewilderment. 

It seemed stupid that Bruce hadn’t thought of this as an option, except that Jason had never ventured into his room before. Not for any reason, did Jason come into his bedroom; even if Bruce called for him he would stand just on the other side of the doorframe and wait for him to come out. But here he was, curled up on the edge of the bed with his legs dangling over the side like he’d been sitting up, waiting, and had just gotten too tired to keep his eyes open. 

For a moment Bruce didn’t know what to do. Part of his strategy with Jason was to always make just enough noise that he knew where he was without having to look for him, so he wouldn’t surprise him. But now he was asleep.

Should he leave him that way?

He couldn’t. Jason was liable to fall off the bed if he shifted wrong and Bruce couldn’t slip into the sheets and have him wake up to find him like that. The boy was skittish at best and was likely to jump to any number of wrong conclusions. He would have to wake him up.

Very carefully, Bruce approached the nightstand on Jason’s side of the bed and turned on the lamp to its lowest setting, hoping that would be enough, but it gained no response. His face was turned so his nose was nearly pressed into the blankets and Bruce just stood there silently for a moment, finally letting out a sigh and running a hand over his face in exhausted relief. Jason was alright, he wasn’t missing. 

But he obviously wanted to speak about something, badly enough that he’d tried to wait up for Bruce, in his bedroom, where he’d never risked stepping foot before. He wondered if he’d be able to convince him to go to bed and have the conversation in the morning or not. Or well, the next day. Bruce likely wouldn’t be waking up in the morning time.

“Jason,” he whispered, and then once more.

“...Jason,” just a little louder, and of course, despite barely raising his volume the boy jolted awake, eyes springing open as he tried to sit up so quickly he would have fallen off the bed had Bruce not reflexively put his arms out to catch him. 

He froze, leaned half in Bruce’s hold and half on the bed before Bruce quickly righted him and let go, taking a step back for good measure.

“Jaylad...”

The boy blinked at him, a wide eyed, nearly dazed, look on his face before he shook his head and pushed a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up in all directions. “Shit,” he breathed, “sorry, I—“ He swallowed, eyes drawing around the room like he didn’t remember falling asleep there.

“That’s alright. Is everything ok?” Bruce asked, still standing a small distance away. The room was dim, lit only by the lamp on the nightstand and light cast across the floor from the hallway. 

Jason’s pajamas were an oversized t-shirt and striped sleep pants. Alfred had gotten him a few matching sets but as far as Bruce had seen he never wore the tops that came with them. Now the neck of his t-shirt was stretched to the side, revealing the little, dark, perfectly circular burn just before the cusp of his shoulder. 

Seeing it just then, with Jason sitting on the edge of his bed, small and slightly hunched — defensive even half awake — twisted Bruce’s heart up into his throat. He would have been even smaller when it happened. 

“Jay?” Bruce repeated, when it appeared Jason had clammed up; whether he was nervous or still too tired to remember what he was doing there Bruce wasn’t sure. But when Bruce spoke Jason clasped his hands in his lap, wringing them together and biting his lip.

“I just...I’m fine, just...can we just get it over with, please?” He spoke in a rush, words hushed and running together to the point that it took a moment for Bruce to parse them out. When he did, of course, his stomach dropped. 

“Get what over with, Jason?”

“The...” He took a soft breath and then appeared to ready himself, sitting up straight and looking Bruce in the eye before he continued. “You asked me to think about why I took it, and I don’t know, ok? And I’m not going to, I don’t have whatever answer you’re looking for so can you just do whatever you’re going to go and get it over with already?”

Even in the dim lighting of the room Bruce could see the flush in his face and couldn’t help his answering frown, or the soft ache in his ribs. “I told you, Jay, I’m not going to _do_ anything.” He wondered if Jason had spent the entire evening agonizing over what Bruce was looking for him to say, even despite his reassurances.

“I know what you _said,”_ he half whispered in return, the implication, of course, that he didn’t believe a word of it. Jason had _seemed_ to believe him in the car, but he supposed an evening along was time enough to convince himself otherwise. 

Bruce hesitated, feeling helplessly lost for what to do when he remembered at least one useful strategy he’d come across in a particular book. 

Always ask questions. Even if you think you know what’s going through their head you might not, and Bruce rarely held such confidence. Of course they sometimes lead nowhere, if your child refused to answer, but it was his best shot. 

Slowly, Bruce stepped to the side and toward the bed, allowing himself to sit gingerly on the edge, leaving a couple feet of space between them. Jason’s eyes followed him the whole way, shining in the light of the lamp.

“What do you think I’m going to do?” Bruce asked quietly, mirroring Jason’s posture with his hands folded in his lap. 

Jason seemed caught off guard by the question, and then suddenly upset. “I don’t _know._ So you don’t hit kids, that doesn’t mean there’s not other stuff.”

“...Like what kind of stuff, Jay?” He felt his voice going quieter of its own accord, like the words were reluctant to leave him. 

The boy let out a frustrated noise, turning to better face Bruce with one leg bent in front of him and the other hung over the side of the mattress, foot propped on the bed frame. 

_“Scream at me,_ kick me out, take away my stuff, send me to bed without dinner, _whatever._ I just hate waiting.” His voice cracked on the last word and Bruce was a jumble of static, unsure where to begin. 

“I told you before, Jay, but if you need to hear it again — I am never going to kick you out, ok? That is not an option. No matter what.”

Jason pulled his hands apart, resting them on the bed and clenching his fingers in the blankets, clearly agitated. “Not forever,” he huffed, “just like, for the night, maybe.”

Bruce blinked, mind a white haze.

“Just until I learn my lesson, or whatever.” He shrugged, hunching his shoulders up around his chin and averting his eyes as Bruce did his best to keep his own breathing level. 

His mouth felt dry when he asked, the words escaping before he could stop them, “Did your father do that to you?”

Jason hunched just that little bit further, face scrunched in a scowl when he gave a microscopic shrug. Bruce was surprised his shoulders would rise any higher. Taking a slow-deep breath through constricted lungs Bruce tried desperately to think past that thought for a way to make Jason understand, to _believe_ him. 

“Well,” he started, wishing he could go back in time and throttle Willis Todd with both hands. “I’m not going to do any of those things. I meant what I said before. I only want to talk about it.”

Jason still scowled, hands clutched in the bedspread. “Why?” he finally asked, “why does it matter?” And Bruce couldn’t quite read the tone of his voice.

“Because,” he hesitated, trying to find the right words, “there’s a reason you felt the urge to take that bottle of perfume, and it’s important to address why, and not just what happened, so we can find a way to keep it from happening again. I could get you in trouble, and it might keep you from trying to steal something another time, but it wouldn’t help you stop _wanting_ to.” 

Jason didn’t say anything, eyes glaring daggers into the mattress before they darted up to Bruce’s face and back down again. 

“Jay,” Bruce said, lifting himself to settle a little more solidly on the bed so he could face him head on. “I want to tell you something that happened when I was younger. About your age.” 

He didn’t know where the thought came from, quite suddenly, but it was there like a surprise visitor knocking at the door.

“I used to have a teacher,” he began. At 12 years old, beginning middle school and starting puberty in an already unhappy time in his life, school had been hard. 

“He taught history,” Bruce said, not that it mattered. “And at the time, I was not very interested in the subject, or school, in general. I sat in the back of class and I didn’t pay much attention or engage in the lessons.”

Jason wasn’t looking at him, still staring at the bedspread with shoulders high, fiddling with a fold in the blanket. But Bruce could tell he was listening. Anytime he paused, Jason’s hands would stop moving. 

“Mr. McDonough did not appreciate it. He didn’t like me.” 

Bruce swallowed, an odd sense of frustration coming over him at the memory. “He used to call on me at random, even though I never raised my hand, he would single me out, use me as an example. At the time I didn’t understand what the problem was with sitting quietly in the back of the class and I didn’t respond well to his...style of authority.” 

He was watching closely, or he might not have noticed Jason’s slight twitch at the comment, his hands curling into the blankets again. 

“One day, I was in a particularly bad mood, and he called on me in the middle of class when I hadn’t been listening and instead of making up an answer or just saying I didn’t know, I told him ‘I didn’t raise my hand.’” 

Finally, Jason sat up just a little, chin raising as he pulled his hands into his lap, listening carefully. 

“Mr. McDonough said, ‘I don’t care, I’m asking you the question.’ and I said back, ‘I don’t care, I didn’t raise my hand.’” 

Jason huffed a quiet breath, glancing up and back down again as Bruce threaded his fingers together, resting them on one knee. 

“It went back and forth, I started to raise my voice and so did he and finally, he cut me off, and said he would speak to me after class. I debated just getting up and leaving more than once, but I knew Alfred would be upset and I already caused enough trouble on the daily that I sat, and waited. 

“When class ended, he called me to his desk and I went, as much as I didn’t care to listen to anything he had to say. The room was empty and it was the end of the day, so no one was likely to come in anytime soon. He went on to lecture me, about being a pretentious rich kid who thought I could have everything handed to me on a silver platter and that I didn’t have to try because I thought I was so much better than everyone else.”

Jason looked up fully then, scowl deepening as he made a vaguely offended sound in the back of his throat. 

“I tried to interrupt but he just talked over the top of me, and the longer he went on the more I kept thinking ‘why am I even standing here? Just to get yelled at for nothing?’ So I thought, ‘forget it,’ and I turned to leave while he was still talking. He didn’t take that well either.”

Bruce cleared his throat, hands clasping just a little tighter. “He yelled at me to come back, that he wasn’t done speaking. When I ignored him he rushed up from the desk and followed me, grabbing me by the arm before I could reach the door.” 

The scowl on Jason’s face receded, replaced by something much closer to wide-eyed dread and Bruce tried to be short and concise without taking away from the story. 

“He pulled me around to face him, and when I tried to pull back there was a desk behind me and I ran into it instead. I tried to pull my arm away but he didn’t let go. I couldn’t go anywhere, and he was too close, yelling right in my face. I suddenly felt trapped. He was tall, and loud, and his grip was too tight. I panicked. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and before I could think to do anything else I punched him in the stomach and ran out of there as fast as I could. I left the campus completely, walked out beyond the baseball diamond and had, what I recognize now as, a panic attack.” 

Jason blinked, eyes glassy, skin noticeably pale even in the low light. 

“Why I’m telling you this,” Bruce went on, pushing forward with sudden urgency, “is because I want you to know that I understand that sometimes you misbehave for reasons unrelated to the situation. And the reaction of the person in charge can help, or just make everything worse. 

“I know it’s not the same. I’m not trying to compare a single argument I had with a bad teacher to the things you’ve been through and the ways you’ve been treated. I just want you to know that I’ve been frightened by adults before, by the people in charge, and I don’t ever want you to feel that way. Especially not with me.”

Jason glanced away, back toward the dresser, but Bruce still caught the tears standing in his eyes. He lowered his voice as he went on. 

“I know the things we’ve been through _aren’t_ the same, and that is why I’m trying so hard to understand. It’s not so I can punish you accordingly, or yell at you; it’s so I know how to help.”

He fell silent then, mouth dry from the rush of words. Bruce wasn’t sure he could remember the last time he’d spoken so much in one go and he felt strangely nervous for it, unsure how Jason would react. The boy was holding very still, gaze off to the side, but Bruce could see his lip tremble before he turned away, where Bruce couldn’t catch his expression. 

He swallowed roughly, wishing he could reach out, do _something_ to comfort him beyond just words, but he knew if there was a time when Jason might open up to him, this was it. 

“I know that it’s not easy to talk about the things that make you upset. But if you don’t tell anyone about them, we don’t know how to help. And that’s all we want to do, me and Alfred. So can you tell me, Jay, what was--”

“It was my mom’s.” His young voice cut in, thick and wet.

He turned back toward Bruce with a rough swallow and blotchy skin. “I know w—“ his voice cut off with a hitch and he lifted both arms to press his hands over his eyes. Bruce resisted reaching out once more, giving him the moment to calm enough to speak while his brain caught up with the words. 

Jason took in a slow-shuddering breath before he dropped his hands, tears still falling in their wake. “I lied before,” he whispered like crushed glass, painfully broken. “It wasn’t— It was my mom’s.” 

He swiped at his eyes again, like he might rub away the tears all together. “She used to have the s-same one.” His lip shook and his eyes were unfocused when he added, in the same broken whisper, “It smelled like her.”

And Bruce...

Bruce couldn’t think, for a moment, heart carved out with a knife. He wondered, if he looked, if he might see shards of it in a pile on the floor because they surely no longer resided in his chest. 

“Jason,” he croaked, voice rusty and wet. He shifted closer across the bed, arms coming up and stuttering to a halt, he didn’t want — he didn’t know— 

“Jaylad,” The boy was obviously struggling, trying to be quiet in his grief, chest jumping with each suppressed sob while he pressed his face into his palms like he might hide from it. “Jaylad, can I give you a hug?” 

He wasn’t sure Jason even heard him at first. He gave no audible response nor any indication of understanding, but then he dropped his arms and _reached—_

Bruce crossed the last of the empty space between them almost clumsily in his haste, arms wrapping around slim shoulders and pulling him in. Jason moved with him, head bumping into Bruce’s chest with a muffled thud, pressing his face into the fabric of his t-shirt and wrapping wiry arms around his middle. 

They hadn’t truly hugged, up to this point, not like this. There was a hand on the shoulder occasionally, or sometimes Bruce would ruffle his hair if he seemed like he was in a good mood, but Jason had never sought out his touch.And, In the name of respecting boundaries, Bruce hadn’t pushed. 

But he wondered now, with how tightly Jason was holding on, if he hadn’t been privately craving it. 

One hand he kept in steady motion, up and down across the bow of Jason’s spine while he brought the other up to cup the back of his neck, holding him in place. Bruce felt weighed down through his entire body, limbs heavy. He could tell he was physically very tired but mentally it was like everything was turned on high resolution, bright and painfully clear as it all came into focus. 

His chest ached, tender and sore like he’d taken a beating. He felt his throat tighten up at the thought that he didn’t remember what his own mother smelled like anymore. She’d never worn perfume, but he remembered she had liked a certain soap. He had slept with her pillow for weeks after their deaths, until the smell was untraceable, until Alfred had finally washed the cases and Bruce had a screaming fit over it. 

He could feel Jason’s hitched breaths with his hand on the boy’s back, the little stifled sobs bleeding into his nightshirt, and it felt like an echo of his own body. Like he was holding the ghost of another boy alongside Jason.

“I know it’s s-stupid,” Jason pushed out, muffled into his chest. 

Bruce leaned down, mouth pressed to the crown of his head when he said back, “It’s not stupid, Jaylad. It’s not.”

He gave a few shuddered breaths in response, then a whisper, in a high-broken voice, “I miss her.” 

And Bruce felt his chest crack down the center, like an iceberg calving in two, as the stinging in his eyes became burning and he shut them against the dim light of the lamp. 

“I know,” he whispered back. “I know you do. It’s ok,” his own voice was like gravel. “It’s ok to miss her.” 

Hugging him suddenly didn’t seem like enough, no matter how tight his arms were around the boy he just wanted to protect him, from all of this, from all of his past hurts; but he knew it was impossible. All he could do was hold him now and try to help him understand that he was safe, that he wasn’t alone. 

His crying, choppy and muffled as it was, didn’t last overly long. Just a few minutes of sitting with him on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his back, threading fingers through his hair, a thumb over the shell of his ear. Until sobs quieted to soft breaths, occasionally hitched and stifled, and he pulled back, seeming suddenly self conscious. 

Bruce let him go, leaving a hand resting between his shoulder blades. 

“I’m ok,” he insisted, rubbing at his face with a fist and sniffing harshly, scrubbing away tear tracks but unable to hide the glassiness of his eyes or their irritated redness. “Sorry,” he breathed a second later, looking dazed as he blinked into the dark. 

“It’s alright.” Bruce brushed his thumb over the fabric of Jason’s t-shirt and without thinking, lifted his hand to run fingers through his hair, tidying it where it was mussed and sticking up. He froze for a split second at the action, worrying of overstepping still but Jason’s eyes only drooped in response, like he could no longer hold off how tired he was. So, Bruce finished the gesture, sweeping soft curls to the side and resting his hand on the crown of his head.

He paused, as the throbbing ache in his chest dulled to something he could think around. Bruce wasn’t sure what to do now, but the bottle of perfume they had left in the shop was in the forefront of his mind.

“We’ll buy the perfume,” he said, voice unexpectedly hoarse. 

Jason looked up at him, dislodging his hand, and looked briefly startled. “we don’t have to, I know it’s dumb, it’s not like it’s really her—“

“It’s not dumb,” Bruce interrupted, the thought feeling urgently important to correct. His hands came to rest back in his lap, unsure what to do with themselves now. “It’s not dumb to want a reminder of her.”

Jason shrugged, looking out across the room. “I don’t need it though.”

Bruce was quiet, the weight of the situation pulling heavily at his shoulders. “Do you want it?”

“It’s fine.” Jason scrubbed a wrist under his nose again, still not looking at him. “I don’t need it.”

“That’s not what I asked, though,” Bruce said, just loud enough to be heard. “Would you like to have it, as something to remember her by?”

He was quiet for a beat, turning his head just enough that Bruce could no longer see his expression in the deep shadows of the room. But then he nodded, and Bruce exhaled. 

“Then I’ll get it for you, ok?”

Jason nodded again, still facing away. He sniffled quietly, and as much as he might want to, he couldn’t hide when he wiped at his eyes. Bruce reached out with just a little less hesitation this time, and rested a feather-light hand on his back, asking silently if that was what he wanted.

A moment later Jason turned to face him, leaning in, his hands grabbed onto his shirt and _pulled_. Bruce took the hint, settling his arms around him again as Jason took a deep-shuddering breath and released it, pressed to Bruce’s chest. 

“Alright,” he said after a while, spotting bright sun leaking around the curtains reflected on the mirror on the wall. Exhaustion dragged at him as much as it appeared to be on Jason and Bruce ran a last hand over his shoulders and sighed. “Let’s get you to bed, and we can talk more in the morning.”

Jason was older than Dick when he came to him, but not all that much bigger. It seemed natural in that moment to place his hands under Jason’s arms and lift as he stood, one arm shifting to support his legs while the other held him steady. Jason stiffened for a split second and Bruce held abruptly still, ready to let him down immediately if he requested it. But then, like a switch was flipped, he relaxed, curling forward until his upper half was leaned flush against Bruce and his forehead rested on his shoulder, arms coming up to wrap around his neck and small hands clutching in the fabric of his shirt. 

“Thank you,” Jason whispered, barely loud enough to make out. 

Bruce held him just a little tighter in response, unable to express the painful fondness in his heart any other way. 

The walk to Jason’s room wasn’t truly long, but in the dark chill of the hallway, with the weight of the boy and all his troubles in his arms, it seemed too far. Too far away from Bruce just to leave him here. But it was for the best, he told himself as he hesitated at the door. He repositioned to let the boy down, bending forward slowly when — just before his dangling feet hit the carpet — Jason rushed out, “You can come in,” face still pressed into his shoulder. 

Half bent over at the waist, Bruce paused, almost asking for a second confirmation before he shook the concern and stood back up. Jason wouldn’t make the offer lightly, and Bruce shouldn’t second guess it. 

Then, for the first time since Jason had moved in, he stepped inside the room.

In the five or so months Jason had been living there, Bruce had yet to see a mess inside that wasn’t gone by the end of the day, so he didn’t hesitate in his walk across the floor, even in the dark. Thankfully the blankets were already pushed down so Bruce only had to lower Jason onto the bed, lifting the edge of the quilt for him to slip his legs under. He clicked on the lamp on the bedside table so he could see, and went about settling the blankets over him, fussing a little with the edges to make sure they were straight.

He was stalling, probably, and Jason was watching him out of the corner of his eye but Bruce still hesitated to leave so quickly. After a moment's pause he lowered himself to perch carefully on the edge of the bed. 

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?” he asked, voice still hushed as if it were the middle of the night while slivers of morning light leaked around the curtains. 

Jason shrugged and then nodded, looking down at his hands, fingers now wound up together where they rested on the blanket. 

Bruce thought about all the times Alfred had tucked him in bed when he was a boy and left, and how he’d spent hours lying awake or crying himself to sleep, tortured by good and bad memories alike. Their conversation may have tired him out enough that sleep would come easily, or might have dredged up painful memories Jason had been avoiding for a long time. 

He brushed a hand over a wrinkle in the bedspread and asked quietly, “Would you like me to read to you, until you fall asleep?”

Startled eyes blinked up at him, the boy obviously taken off guard by the question, and then seemingly embarrassed, sinking lower against his pillows. “I’ll be ok. You don’t need to.”

Another non-answer.

Dick had done that sort of thing too. Afraid to inconvenience him after all his misfortune before he came to the manor. The difference being that back then, at first, Bruce had taken his words at face value and left him to it, never wanting to overstay his welcome. Up until the night he’d passed the boy’s room after patrol, when Dick had gone upstairs long before him, only to hear him crying so hard through the door Bruce was afraid he’d make himself sick. He’d felt so stupid back then; because he remembered lying too, pretending he was fine at times because he knew he’d kept Alfred awake two nights in a row and he didn’t want to do it for a third. 

“I know,” he said now, pausing as he tried to think of the right way to word his next statement. “...But if it would help you sleep, I’d like to.” 

Jason only stared at him for a long moment, like he didn’t understand.

“We don’t have to,” Bruce added, remembering acutely that this was the first time Jason had felt comfortable enough to even invite him into the room. “If you’d rather I leave—“

“You don’t have to—“ Jason interrupted only to cut himself off, sinking lower again into the blankets until his chin was nearly propped on his chest and his fingers were twisting in the sheets. “I mean,” he shrugged again, “you can stay and read, but only if you want to.” 

Bruce nodded, reaching over to pat the lump in the blanket that was Jason’s nearest leg. “Then I’ll stay for a bit. Are you reading anything in particular?”

He shook his head, still watching with wide eyes as Bruce pushed his heavy body off the bed and went to the bookshelf near his desk, squinting in the dark at the titles and running a hand over each embossed spine to be sure what he was looking at. He didn’t particularly care what it was beyond nothing that would keep him up — meaning nothing frightening or overly exciting. He paused at a copy of A Wrinkle In Time, sliding it carefully out of its place. 

It was well worn, and when he flipped the front cover open he found Dick’s name scrawled on the title page, like he used to do when he was small. Bruce wasn’t sure how it ended up in Jason’s room. Whether it had been misfiled in the library at some point, if Jason had snuck in and taken it from Dick’s room, or if Dick had lended it to him on one of his rare visits home, but it felt familiar in his hands and would be calm enough to start.

When he came back to the bed he hesitated once more. “Is it alright if I sit up here? For the light.” Bruce gestured to the space just next to Jason, between him and the edge of the bed and Jason nodded, scooting over just a little bit more to give him enough room to get fully seated, so he could stretch his legs up on the bed in front of him. Bruce’s vision was practically swimming when he opened to the front page, but he took a deep breath and forced his eyes to focus as he began to read. 

He didn’t think it would take too long for Jason to fall asleep at least. Or he hoped not anyway. Because if he didn’t, Bruce was likely to beat him to it.

After a moment, Jason shifted around, shuffling himself down in the blankets until he was laying down on his right side, one arm bent under his pillow, facing Bruce. 

“What book is this?” he interrupted after a few sentences, voice still hushed. 

Bruce blinked as he flipped the cover closed, holding his place with a thumb and turning it so Jason could see. He stared for a second before giving a small hum.

“Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” he said around a sudden yawn, “Dick said it was good.”

So he had lent it to him, then. The thought was settling in a way, as he relaxed back into position, opening the book to continue reading. It wasn’t like he expected Dick to dislike Jason, but Bruce had sensed he wasn’t very happy about him taking on Robin, initially. And part of him was worried that his sudden adoption as soon as Dick left the nest would foster resentment, and insecurities Bruce knew he hadn’t been good at dispelling in Dick as he grew. Never quick enough with encouragement, always assuming Dick already knew how he felt. Things that drove wedges between them even now, when it often felt too late to make up for them. He was determined not to make the same mistakes with Jason. 

Knowing that Dick talked with the boy even when Bruce wasn’t aware was comforting; it took a little worry away about both of them, with how little he got to see Dick these days. And as the knowledge nestled into the base of his ribs, softening the painful things he’d discussed with Jason, he read.

After the first page he glanced down to find Jason staring at nothing, eyes half lidded but still open, unfocused and blinking slowly. Bruce maneuvered the book into one hand and carefully settled the other in Jason’s hair, pushing it back in steady strokes and watching for any adverse reaction. Thankfully, he only seemed to relax further, blinks slowing more and more until the next time he looked down and his eyes were closed, the wrinkle between his brows finally smoothing out, leaving his face lax in sleep.

Bruce continued for a little while, knowing it would still be easy to wake him if he moved now.

But just a few pages later his own eyelids felt heavy and slow, dragging up only with monumental effort, and he had the passing thought that he should get up and go to his own room, that he could not fall asleep on Jason’s bed — before he stopped thinking anything at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Mention of a teacher yelling at a student and becoming physically aggressive (this is not described in detail, and is brief). general warning for references to child abuse, nothing overly detailed, and lastly conversation revolving around grief. 
> 
> ______
> 
> Felt like I had to get this up quick as the last chapter was a bit of a transition. Hope you enjoyed<33


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warning this chapter but for conversations dealing with grief....I should probably add that as a tag honestly.

Bruce woke up to a dim room with the lamp still on, bright light leaking in cracks around the curtains and a thin figure standing in the doorway. 

He blinked, clearing his vision only to squint at Alfred, silently giving him a soft look from the hall. Bruce shook his head, letting out a jaw cracking yawn before he glanced down at the still-sleeping boy next to him, a small patch of drool on his pillow case. 

“Let him sleep, Alfred,” he rasped. Quietly, he risked clearing his throat and lifted a hand to rub at his face, knocking the book off his chest in the process. One hand snapped out, trained reflexes the only thing that kept it from hitting the floor, and waking Jason. 

It was no doubt time for the boy to get up for school but it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours since they’d both gone to sleep. Bruce sighed and folded the book closed, setting it carefully on the nightstand. One missed day wouldn’t do any harm.

“I daresay you could also use a few more hours,” Alfred whispered, never stepping foot over the threshold, as he had also promised. 

Bruce yawned again, slowly taking stock of his body — his neck did not thank him for sleeping sitting up. “You might be right,” he offered after a moment, he really should go before Jason woke up, anyway, since he’d said he would. But, with one hand still resting lightly in his hair and Jason sound asleep after a difficult night, it was hard to want to leave him.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred whispered again from the doorway.

“Hm?”

“I daresay he’ll be alright without you, and if you stay where you are you’ll be stiff as a corpse when he finally wakes.”

Bruce hummed again, knowing Alfred was right. He reluctantly brushed Jason’s hair back one more time before he removed his hands and slowly — and stiffly — got up from the bed with as little movement as he could manage. Glancing down only once to make sure he hadn’t woken him, Bruce turned off the lamp on the nightstand and slipped out of the room on silent feet.

“Late night?” Alfred asked once the door was closed.

“Early morning, more like.” Bruce stretched, pulling his shoulders back and rolling his neck from side to side, trying to dispel the grinding crunch in his vertebrae.

“But,” Alfred persisted, “you were able to end on a positive note, it seems?” 

Bruce knew the man well enough to recognize the slight concern in his voice, though it would be indiscernible to anyone else. 

“I...believe so, yes.” Bruce scrubbed a hand through his hair, making his way back down toward his room while Alfred followed quietly behind.

“You believe so?”

“Yes, it...” He hesitated to reveal much of what Jason had been so reluctant to volunteer in the first place. “We had a good conversation. But there’s still more to discuss, sometime soon.”

Alfred didn’t press, as Bruce knew he wouldn’t, but the line of his mouth seemed to relax as he stood to the side while Bruce finally entered his room and climbed into bed for the first time since the night before. 

“Well, that is progress then, that’s good.”

“Yes, progress,” Bruce mumbled, rolling onto his side and half speaking into his pillow, making Alfred let out a sigh.

“At least turn the lights out, Master Bruce,” he huffed, before a small _click_ sounded and the room was once again dark inside. “Sleep well then.”

Bruce mumbled something approximating ‘goodnight’ but he wasn’t sure it actually came across as words before the door latched quietly and he once again succumbed to unconsciousness. 

*

When he woke for the second time, Bruce was much more comfortable, though he still felt old beyond his years. He could tell, now that he was more rested, and his internal clock was reset, that it was late into the afternoon, probably close to 1pm. 

It still wasn’t a great amount of sleep, he would do some meditation later to mitigate the effects, but for now, he gave into being inevitably tired through the day. Sleeping this late wasn’t ideal, even on the weekend, it made it difficult to to get back on track for work meetings or to be up on time to say goodbye to Jason before school each day. 

So, he forced himself up and around, brushing his teeth, changing into a t-shirt and jeans, and headed downstairs for something to eat. He was absolutely starving, not having eaten since dinner the day before.

Alfred, of course, predicted this; and Bruce found a hardy serving of chicken curry waiting for him, along with Jason, sitting at the kitchen counter, already mid meal. He was still in his pajamas with mussed hair, and Bruce reached out to fix it without thought, only realizing what he’d done when Jason gave the smallest twitch, a well suppressed flinch, and the tips of his ears went pink. He swallowed and reached up to pat his hair down as soon as Bruce removed his hand. 

“Ah...sorry, I...”

“It’s fine,” he mumbled around his next bite, barely pausing at Bruce’s entrance, leaning over the counter with his shoulders tucked up by his chin. 

Bruce cleared his throat, glancing at Alfred only to find him standing at the kitchen sink, looking just as soft as he had when he found Bruce asleep on Jason’s bed, and clearly suppressing a smile. 

“Afternoon,” Bruce said, hoping to push past the moment with as little embarrassment as possible, for both Jason and himself. 

“Good afternoon, Master Bruce. Good to see you both up and around.” 

Jason grunted in return, eyes flicking up and to the side as Bruce took the seat next to him and accepted his own portion with a brief thank you. 

Their meal went by quietly, none of the normal chatter Bruce would expect from Jason, nor any complaints about missing school. Instead, he felt eyes on him anytime he wasn’t looking, while Alfred pulled out baking supplies and started on some form of bread, by Bruce’s estimation. His guess though, was that the older man simply wanted an excuse to stay in the kitchen. 

But, there wasn’t much to overhear. Navigating the morning after a difficult conversation was always odd, Bruce had learned throughout his life; from when he was small, with Alfred, on into life with Dick, and now Jason. The elevated emotions of the previous night dispelled into awkward normalcy that made all of it seem embarrassing somehow. Bruce was never particularly good at it, but he knew he needed to break the tension before it got any worse. 

He tried to think of something to say for the majority of the meal, drawing blank after blank until Jason finished his lunch and excused himself, and Bruce spoke the first thing that came into his head, not wanting to let the moment pass.

“Hey,” he threw out, just after Jason’s feet hit the floor as he slid out of his seat. “come find me when you’re done getting ready for the day?” 

Jason paused where he was, blinking back at him, hands drifting to worry at the hem of his nightshirt. 

“Uh,” his eyes darted to Alfred and back again and he shrugged, “sure.” He still looked vaguely nervous even as he agreed, nodding for good measure before disappearing back up to the main family wing.

“Having another conversation already?” Alfred asked quietly, as soon as Jason’s footsteps could no longer be heard. He raised an eyebrow while Bruce continued eating.

“No,” he answered, moving his food around his plate. “Not yet, at least. There’s something else we need to do first.” The idea was solidifying in his mind as he spoke and Alfred hummed in response, giving him a narrow eyed look.

“Something I’m not to be a part of, then?”

Bruce paused in his chewing and gave a small sigh, debating. “It was difficult...to get him to speak to me about it. I’m not sure...”

“Say no more,” Alfred lifted a hand, “the boy will tell me if he wishes. Better that he trusts you with private matters in the future than for me to be _all knowing.”_

Bruce nodded, taking another bite of his lunch and trying to wrap his head around that second conversation for a moment. They would get the perfume first, just — Bruce wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it until he picked it up from the store. But beyond that, now that he knew why Jason had decided to _take_ it, before backing out at the last moment, he couldn’t help but be stuck on why he didn’t simply ask Bruce to buy it. 

Why he never asked for _anything._ Why he obsessed over the exact number of _cents_ tickets to a book signing would cost before throwing away the flyer. Why he had a near anxiety attack when Bruce wanted to buy him a model dinosaur. Why he got so upset with Alfred for “lying” in order to buy him candy by proxy.

Bruce of course, _did_ know why, to some extent. Or at least, he had an idea. It was easy to understand a boy who’d grown up poor and then ended up homeless being anxious about money, even if he no longer needed to be. Long term stresses and fears didn’t simply leave you when the source of the problem was eliminated. But Bruce was somewhat at a loss, once again, on how to address it. 

It was a large part of why he hadn’t pressed the issue so far.

Initially, he’d hoped that over time Jason would come to settle into the knowledge that he had security now. And perhaps he would, to some extent, but it was clear to Bruce at this point that _time_ was not enough on its own. It would take years for ingrained thought processes to be let go of, if they ever were. He needed to _do_ something to help, not just wait and see. But what, he wasn’t sure. He needed more information.

*

When Jason eventually came to find him, it was a little later than he expected, and he’d migrated into his study to look over some work things he was missing since he had no plans to go into the office that day. He’d also sent Leslie an email, detailing the situation and asking her advice. She would likely call him later, as she always said his messages were terse and lacking detail; though she also joked that he wasn’t much better in person.

Bruce closed his laptop when Jason knocked softly on the frame of the open door, motioning him inside and standing up from his chair to come around the desk. The boy was obviously nervous, putting on an air of nonchalance with his hands balled up in the pocket of his Gotham Knights sweatshirt, slouching just a little too dramatically to be natural.

After taking a seat on the small couch that sat between his desk and the door he waited a moment, but Jason didn’t join him, just shifted from foot to foot. “You wanted something?” he mumbled, eyes drifting over the room like it was suddenly interesting, despite seeing it every day. 

“Yes,” Bruce said, clearing his throat after, feeling a little nervous himself, “I thought we could go back to Giovanni’s, pick up the perfume, if you’re up for it.”

Jason’s so far avoidant gaze immediately snapped to his face, eyes wide. “Like r...right now?”

Bruce nodded slowly, maintaining eye contact. “You’re home from school, I don’t plan on going into work, we have the time. I don’t see a reason not to. So I thought we could leave soon, yes.” 

Jason swallowed, expression unchanged and Bruce tacked on quickly, “If you’d like to, that is.”

He wasn’t entirely sure he should offer him the out, as Bruce didn’t doubt he might take it. But he didn’t feel like pressuring him would be a good idea either. 

“I...” Jason clearly hesitated, breaking eye contact and looking around the office again, gaze settling on the small-framed photo of Bruce and his parents above the fireplace. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and worried at it for a moment. “We don’t have to,” he said quietly, as Bruce had expected.

“I know that,” he answered back. “But I’d like to.” 

Bruce could see his hands moving even inside the pocket of his sweatshirt, wringing around each other in a hidden gesture of nerves. “It won’t take long,” he tried to reassure, “we can go and be back within an hour, I’d bet.”

“Yeah,” Jason breathed out, nodding to himself. “Yeah, I guess...ok.”

“Ok,” Bruce nodded back, “go get your shoes on, and meet me in the garage.” 

*

They were on the road quickly. In fact, it was a much smoother process than Bruce expected, all things considered; though, Jason was so quiet in the car Bruce felt, for perhaps the second or third time in his life, that he should make conversation simply for the sake of it. Just to distract Jason from whatever was bothering him; he knew It could be any number of things.

The mixed memory of his mother perhaps, the concern at spending the money, or maybe just leftover embarrassment at admitting why he wanted it to start with. All three of them, maybe, or even others that didn’t immediately come to mind. 

“You said Dick recommended A Wrinkle in Time?” Bruce blurted, about ten minutes into their twenty minute drive. Jason actually flinched at his voice, he was so deep in thought.

“Yeah,” he said after a delay, not expanding even after the long pause.

“When did you two talk about that?” Bruce kept his eyes on the road, despite wanting to look over, he knew sometimes his full attention could be overwhelming. 

“...When you got hurt on patrol last month. He came over.”

Bruce blinked at the windshield. “I don’t remember that.”

He did glance over then, at the small huff of laughter, and could see Jason’s smirk reflected off the passenger side window where he continued to stare outside. “Yeah, you were kinda out of it. He said you probably wouldn’t remember.”

Bruce hummed, a vaguely unhappy noise, while his stomach sank just slightly. No one had bothered to even mention it to him, probably at Dick’s own request. But he had still come, which was...something. 

He wondered why, though. It wasn’t as if a minor concussion combined with one of Ivy’s toxins was completely unheard of. He wasn’t even really hurt, he’d mostly been worried about Jason’s reaction, who’d only recently taken up the Robin mantle and—

Oh, of course. Alfred must have called him, thinking Jason could use an _experienced_ Robin in that moment, and Dick had come, for his new namesake. 

Bruce should contact him. 

Of course he knew that, had thought it a thousand times over the last six or so months since Dick had left for good, off to a college he didn’t want to attend — after a blowout fight Bruce had “won” but that left him frustrated and disappointed in himself — and subsequently abandoned two months ago without even telling him. 

They still hadn’t spoken about it. 

Bruce’s tuition check had simply been returned in the mail; he called the college and was informed that Dick Grayson had unenrolled himself a month prior.

He’d checked his tracker immediately, suddenly panicked that he didn’t know where he was, and found his beacon blinking squarely inside Titan’s tower. He hadn’t turned it off, which meant he wasn’t hiding it; the returned tuition check wasn’t an oversight on his part, it was simply an avoidance of what he surely imagined would be a blowup of epic proportions. 

And it might have been, if not for Clark and something he’d said to him just before Dick left. 

_“Would you rather him be theoretically safe, within arms reach, and miserable— or on his own, taking measured risks, and happy? What’s more important to you Bruce, what_ you _want, or what_ he _wants?”_

It made him pause and _think_ for long enough to calm himself down once he was sure that Dick hadn’t simply disappeared. 

It wasn’t as though they never spoke now, though it seemed to be rarely these days. Even since finding out that Dick had dropped out Bruce had called him — half expecting to be ignored — but Dick had answered, voice wary. Whatever half formed thoughts Bruce had about bringing up school had disappeared in favor of the easier option — Jason’s tux — that had motivated him to at least make the call.

He’d known he wouldn’t care, of course, Dick would have no reason to want them anymore other than for some sentimental value and Bruce doubted he held many fond memories of the extravagant parties he’d attended as a child. And as good hearted as he was, he would want to help out where Jason was concerned. 

But Bruce had wanted to check in, in some form. To test that Dick would still at least take his calls. 

That was one question answered, and a relief, but so many other things still unresolved that Bruce didn’t know how to address. Their conversation had gone fine, but had remained light and avoidant of all potentially volatile topics while Bruce’s tongue weighed heavy in his mouth. It was easier to discuss Jason. 

“What else did you talk about?” He asked, trying to clear the thought and focus back in on the situation at hand. Both boys were constantly on his mind these days, but this was here and now, Jason needed him to be present. 

Jason’s smirk grew that much more and he chanced a sideways glance over. “He told me about the time Ivy made you hallucinate that you were the tin man from Wizard of Oz and you kept asking for oil.”

Bruce gave a soft snort, shaking his head. “That never happened. Dick likes to joke that I’m the Tin man. He was pulling your leg.” 

Like he used to pull Bruce’s. He felt a twinge of guilt that he’d even used to think it was funny. Teasingly being called _heartless_ probably should have been a wakeup call, long before now.

“Sure he was,” Jason shrugged, clearly amused. 

“He-“ Bruce gave him a sideways look, “You know what, sure, but Dick thought he was Toto.” Jason spun around in his seat, eyes squinting in suspicion but mouth curved up like he wanted to laugh. “He barked, constantly, for an hour.”

that earned him a snorted laugh. “For real? Did he really?”

Bruce laughed quietly, pressing down the soft soreness in his chest, “No, not really. Just like I did not think I was the tin man.”

Jason narrowed his eyes even further, looking back toward the window. “I’ll ask Alfred.”

Bruce huffed an offended scoff, “I see how it is.”

“He’s a neutral third party, only one I can trust.”

“Of course.” 

They lapsed into quiet again, more relaxed this time, Jason leaned against the window, watching other cars drive past and the traffic lights change. And then he asked, as they were just a few blocks away from the shop, “Can I stay in the car?”

“Hm?” Bruce asked, distracted for a moment as he concentrated on changing lanes. 

“When we get there...do I have to go in?”

Bruce glanced over, reading the tinge of anxiety in his voice. “Do you not want to?”

“Well, just,” he shifted around, facing forward and sliding a little lower in his seat. “What if they know I tried to take it?” He was quiet, and clearly distressed by the idea. 

“...I don’t think they will.”

He suppressed a wince at himself, knowing it was the wrong thing to say as soon as it left his mouth.

Jason scoffed, pulling one leg up to prop his foot on the seat. “How do you know? You’re probably just so rich they didn’t say anything. Don’t wanna lose you as a customer over a bottle of perfume.”

Bruce frowned, slowly pulling up to an empty spot and adjusting his mirrors methodically to parallel park. 

“I don’t think that’s true,” he said slowly, “Giovanni is an old friend, he doesn’t think of me like the gossip rags. Besides, Jay,” he looked over, sliding the gear into park, leaning slightly against the steering wheel, “he’s a nice man, and he likes you, and you _didn’t_ take anything.” 

Bruce could see Jason’s knee bouncing in jittery fidgets as he peered out the window at the storefront. Bruce was quiet, and finally the leg stopped and Jason looked over, face a little red when he next spoke. “Can you just get it? I’ve been chased out of enough places I don’t want—“ he stopped, swallowing roughly while Bruce felt the now unsurprising pang of heartache to go with any small admission from Jason. The boy shrugged, looking down and not finishing the sentence though Bruce could imagine a few ways it might have ended.

“Kiddo,” he said, trying to let feeling bleed into his voice, “I can see if it’s still in the dressing room. But if it’s not I don’t remember what the bottle looks like, and I never smelled it. Do you want me to check? and I can come get you if it’s not?”

Jason fidgeted, dropping his one propped up foot back to the floor, staring out the window again. “No,” he said, voice small, “I’ll go in.”

“Jay—“

“It’s fine, it’s my own fault if they say something.” The harsh edge to his words was sudden, a weak defense to cover over the still obvious shame that he’d tried to steal something he didn’t ‘need’.

Bruce wanted nothing more than to reach out at that moment but restrained himself. Not yet, later. “No one’s going to say anything, and even if they do, you _didn’t_ take it, and we’re here to pay for it now. Nobody should be upset.”

Jason didn’t say anything to this, just unbuckled his seatbelt and opened his door, shuffling out onto the sidewalk quickly enough that Bruce had to rush to catch up with him before he reached the door. 

The bell jingled cheerily like always even while Jason threw the door open with more force than necessary, leaving Bruce to slow its ricocheting closure with a quick hand. There was another customer inside, a tall-thin man in glasses, who looked back at them from where he stood by the dressing room with a garment bag over one arm and his phone in the other hand. The dressing however, appeared occupied as the curtain was closed.

The woman he’d met last time he was there, Vienne, stood behind the shoe counter and startled when Jason thrust open the door. 

“Hello,” she greeted them with a small smile before recognition dawned on his face. “Oh, Mr. Wayne! Let me get my grandfather.”

“Oh that’s alright, we don’t—“

“Nonno!” She yelled through the back of the shop before Bruce could stop her; Jason stiffened at his side. 

There was a series of noises before the old man appeared suddenly, as if he materialized into thin air. 

“Bruce!” He put his arms up in a gesture of greeting as he walked further into the store. “And young Mr. Jason I see as well,” he nodded to Jason, coming to stand next to the front counter. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you so soon? I’m afraid the alterations on this young man’s suit aren’t quite done yet.” 

“No, no, that’s fine. I was actually here to look for a scent.” 

“Oh,” Giovanni raised his bushy eyebrows and looked down toward the shelves of perfume and cologne and nodded. “I see, I see, did you have something specific in mind?”

“Yes, actually,” Bruce said, “Jason here found something when we were here last that he suggested to me. But we aren’t sure of the name of it.” He looked over to the shelves then himself, Jason so far sticking close to his side and silent, hands stuffed in his pockets and jaw tense. “Do you see it, Jay?” 

Bruce nodded toward the display and, finally, Jason took a few steps away from him and toward the perfume, glancing through the shelves with a quick eye before he looked back at Bruce and gave a small nod.

“Oh yes? Which one caught your fancy, hm?” Giovanni asked, leaned with one elbow on the glass counter, perfectly casual. 

Jason didn’t say anything, just bent a little at the knees and picked up a pink frosted-glass bottle with a square base and curved sides. He held it carefully in both hands, cradled against his stomach, and glanced at Bruce with wide-nervous eyes. 

“Oh, a perfume I see, a gift, hm? Perhaps for this Selina I’ve heard so little about, eh?” He winked at Bruce, who gave him a somewhat put upon smile. Not full Brucie glow, but enough to seem amused. 

Jason however, was just about glowing, face nearly hot pink as he hastily set the bottle on the counter. Bruce had to resist the urge to put an arm around his shoulders or brush a hand through his hair. Sympathy pains tugged at his heart when he remembered being an awkward boy who never felt like he fit anywhere. Everything was embarrassing then, even when no one else noticed, but he knew the attention would just make it worse.

Giovanni plucked the bottle up from the counter easily, giving Jason a warm smile with a tick of amusement in his eyes when he actually looked at the bottle. “You know we found this in the dressing room yesterday? Like decoration.” He chuckled to himself as he peered at the sticker on the bottom of the bottle, entering something into the till while Jason stiffened, shoulders climbing up to his ears. Bruce held himself back from sighing, having half a mind to send Jason back out to the car until he was done.

“You didn’t put it there, did you?” Giovanni asked, glancing up from the cash register at Jason. 

It was clear to Bruce that he was joking around, but he knew immediately Jason wouldn’t take it as such.

“I—“ he made an aborted jerk of his head, like he was going to look back and Bruce and then stopped, freezing in place. Bruce did step forward then, close enough to Jason’s side that he could settle a careful hand on his shoulder. He was strung taught like a bow ready to snap and Giovanni seemed to realize something was off by the downward twitch of his mustache. He offered a smile a moment later, dropping the faux suspicion with an apprehensive glance toward Bruce.

“Ah, don’t listen to me, someone probably tried it on with a new dress and set it there while they were changing and forgot. No harm no foul.” 

Jason didn’t say anything, or even look up, but he nodded very slightly, hands buried so deep in his sweatshirt pocket it would probably be stretched out after this. 

“Cash or card today?” Giovanni asked, turning back to Bruce, who quickly retrieved his wallet, handing off a debit card, silently thankful that he hadn’t verbalized the total that was displayed in small glowing letters on the register. It seemed reasonable enough to Bruce, but he knew Jason was already stressed and hearing it out loud would just make it worse. 

The transaction itself was quick, Giovanni wrapped the bottle in bright-white tissue paper before setting it inside a small-black gift box with a pre-attached bow in forest green. 

“Would you like a bag?”

“No, thank you, that will be fine.” Bruce watched Jason, but he didn’t reach for the box, just stared at it like it might vanish if he looked away; so, Bruce carefully picked it up and nodded to Giovanni.

“Thank you.”

“Of course! You come anytime. We’ll call you when the tux is ready. And let me know what you think of those ties.” He pointed a finger at him, always jovial in a genuine way that normally put Bruce at ease, softening the edges of his persona and allowing him to be a little more real.

“I look forward to it.”

Now though, he was too focused on getting out of there as quickly as possible to even acknowledge it. Jason moved stiffly, taking steps only as Bruce gently nudged him toward the door. 

He watched him carefully as Bruce climbed into the car, still holding the box carefully in one hand. Jason settled in next to him, closing his door and pulling his seatbelt on, gripping the strap across his chest in both hands. 

“Jay?” Bruce was quiet, a little hesitant; he couldn’t quite tell what was going through Jason’s head.

His eyes flicked over, gaze clinging to the box in Bruce’s hand, but he didn’t speak. 

With no more prompting than that Bruce held it out across the center console, arm resting on the emergency break as he waited for Jason to surrender his grip on the seatbelt so he could settle the box softly in both of his much smaller hands. 

Jason stared at it for a long moment after the weight settled in his grip, fingers carefully cradling the edges before he licked his lips and looked up.

“I can wash the batmobile.”

Bruce blinked, mind trying to form a connection between what Jason just said and _something_ that happened in the last ten minutes. “What?” 

“Or wash the windows? Or clean the pool out! Or I can...” he looked away, eyes narrowed and brows scrunched up in concentration. “Or I could mow the yard maybe, or weed Alfred’s garden—“

“Jay what—“ Of course it occurred to him all at once why this had suddenly come up. “Jason, no.”

Jason clapped his mouth shut, turning to look at Bruce again and curling the small gift box closer into his chest like he might suddenly take it away.

“You’re not doing chores for this. You don’t have to earn it.”

“But—“ somehow the idea that he _didn’t_ need to earn the gift was distressing. “It’s so _much_ though.” His anxiety was clear in the strain of his voice and Bruce had to resist the automatic reply of, _‘it’s really not.’_

That was, of course, very subjective, and was the last thing that would be helpful in that moment. “And I think....,” he started, moving his hands up to hang off the bottom of the steering wheel, “that it’s worth it...to give you something that brings back good memories.” 

Jason swallowed, staring at Bruce with wide eyes before he looked back down at the box in his hands, thumb just grazing the edge of the green ribbon.

“Does it bring back good memories?” Bruce asked very quietly, shifting his arms up and resting his weight on the steering wheel while he peered at Jason, trying to read his half hidden expression.

He caught a very small nod and an even tinier sniffle before Jason dragged a wrist under his nose and set the box in his lap so he could press the heels of his hands into both eyes.

“Jaylad?” Bruce whispered, having a sudden pang of worry that this gift might be just as painful as it was comforting. 

He shook his head, pulling in a stuttering breath without ever removing his hands. Bruce reached out slowly, knowing Jason couldn’t see him, and rested a hand delicately between his bowed shoulders; when it garnered no response he brushed softy back and forth with a flat palm. 

“She used to—“ his voice jumped and he swallowed, finally dropping his hands to scrub at his face and sniff hard. His skin was red and blotchy and Bruce carefully tucked a piece of unruly hair behind his ear before returning the hand to his back. “She used to wear it before she got real sick. And then after, on her good days, when she’d take me somewhere, like the park or the s-store or something.”

Bruce could feel a lump swelling in his own throat at the tears in Jason’s voice and continued rubbing softly back and forth. “That sounds nice,” he whispered in return, remembering parks, and driving out to lookouts after dark, to see the stars.

Jason nodded and then was quiet, a long pause of nothing but hushed sniffles that Bruce didn’t know how to breach. “My father used to take me stargazing,” he offered suddenly, unsure where the words came from exactly, just knowing that Jason had shared something from his past that was difficult for him to talk about and Bruce — just wanted to give him something in return. 

Blinking as he swiped his wrist across his cheek again, Jason turned to look at him. “Yeah?” He asked, voice thick.

Bruce nodded, feeling his throat close up even more. “He taught me all about the stars,” his voice was rough, forcing him to clear it halfway through. “What park did your mom take you to?” he asked after a while, unsure if it was too much, or if, like Dick, Jason might _want_ to talk about her. 

The boy swallowed harshly as a large tear slid down his cheek before he had a chance to wipe it away. “H-Harrison Park. It’s got a nice playground and—“ he hiccuped and then swore. “ _Fuck_ , I don’ know what’s _w-wrong_ with me,” he bit out, suddenly frustrated. “I never used to cry about it.” 

Bruce sighed softly, leaning across the center console to open the glovebox with his free hand and dig through for a pack of tissues. Alfred always kept them stocked in all his cars and Bruce was grateful for it more frequently than you might expect. He pulled a travel pack out, shuffling it around with one hand before Jason suddenly pulled it out his grip and tore one out of the package himself, balling it up and pressing it to both eyes again, breath hitching all the while. 

“That’s normal, Jay,” Bruce murmured, continuing the rhythmic strokes, leaned just a little awkwardly sideways in his seat. 

Jason scoffed, removing the tissue just to give him a tearful glare. “How is it _normal?_ I was fine and suddenly I’m a fucking mess all the time.” 

At least his recent perusing through old parenting books was good for something. He’d read up on this, in particular, and he nodded along. “I don’t think you’re a mess, but it is normal. They even have a name for it.”

“Who’s they?” He asked, just before blowing his nose loudly. Bruce paused, waiting until he was finished.

“Psychologists,” he said, motioning for Jason to hand him the wadded up tissue, stuffing it in the side compartment of his door to throw away later. 

Jason made an unhappy noise in the back of his throat and sat forward, new tissue clenched in one hand, resting his elbows on his knees, leaving Bruce more space to broaden his strokes, slow and even. “What’s it’s called then?”

“Delayed trauma response.” 

Jason scowled, looking unconvinced. “That doesn’t even make _sense.”_

“It does,” Bruce said, trying to think of an easy way to explain it. “It’s normal not to react right away when something bad happens. Sometimes we aren’t in a good place to process. Especially in a situation like yours, when you have so much on your plate. 

“Our brains prioritize things; you can’t focus on keeping yourself safe if you’re grieving. But when you don’t have to focus on that anymore — it’ll come up eventually.” 

Jason was quiet, and for a brief moment Bruce feared he’d done exactly what Alfred had cautioned him against, and made Jason feel like a ‘standard specimen’ of some kind. 

But then he just covered his face with both hands and groaned. “That’s stupid,” he said, muffled into his palms, but he sounded more tired than upset, tears drying up as his breathing steadied.

“I know. But it is normal.” 

That got him a laugh, if a small one, before he took a deep breath and sat back up, leaning back enough to signal Bruce to pull his hand back. He sagged in his seat, one hand wrapping back around the box and holding it close while the other scrubbed away the last of his tears with the wadded up tissue. 

Bruce hesitated a moment, and finally risked leaning in, brushing the hair away from his forehead and pressing a brief kiss on his hairline before he sat back, hands moving to loosely grip the steering wheel. “You ready to head home?” 

Jason nodded, rubbing at his eyes one last time before he sighed. He looked ready to fall asleep, blinking out the windshield. Bruce started the car, checking his mirrors before he pulled out into traffic.

Just as they were nearing the freeway entrance Jason spoke, very quietly. 

“Thank you.”

Bruce took a moment, before he looked over, chest constricting almost painfully. 

He really loved this kid.

The feeling struck him so suddenly, it nearly took his breath away. 

It had only been a few months, and he couldn’t say it, he knew. Not only because he was terrible with that sort of thing but because he knew it was too early; bridges were just being built, reinforced. It would scare him, Bruce was quite certain, just as he scared himself a little, with how strongly he felt it. But it was true, and had been true for some time. 

“Of course, Jaylad, I was happy to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading as always! Love to hear from you if you feel up to it! 😊 
> 
> I'm not sure how long the next chapter will take, as I've decided to basically overhaul what I have outline, but good news! Surprise guest arrives next chapter!


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